GEORGE  HOLMES  HOWISON 


THE  -BANQUET  OF  PLATO 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE 

GREEK  BY  PERCY  BYSSHE 

SHELLEY 


MDCCCCVIII 


THE  PERSONS  OF  THE 
DIALOGUE 

Apollodorus 

A  Friend  of  Apollodorus 

Glauco 

Aristodemus 

Socrates 

Agathon 

Phaedrus 

Pausanias 

Eryximachus 

Aristophanes 

Diotima 

Alcibiades 


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THE  BANQUET  OF  PLATO 


APOLLODORUS.  I  think  that  the 
subject  of  your  inquiries  is  still  fresh 
in  my  memory ;  for  yesterday,  as  I 
chanced  to  be  returning  home  from 
Phaleros,  one  of  my  acquaintance,  see^ 
ing  me  before  him,  called  out  to  me 
from  a  distance,  jokingly,  *  Apollodo' 
rus,  you  Phalerian,  will  you  not  wait 
a  minute  if — I  waited  for  him,  and  as 
soon  as  he  overtook  me,  'I  have  just 
been  looking  for  you,  Apollodorus/  he 
said,  *  for  I  wish  to  hear  what  those 
discussions  were  on  Love,  which  took 
place  at  the  party, when  Agathon,SoC' 
rates,  Alcibiades,  and  some  others  met 
at  supper.  Some  one  who  heard  it  from 
Phoenix,  the  son  of  Philip,  told  me  that 
you  could  give  a  full  account,  but  he 
could  relate  nothing  distinctly  hinv 


self  Relate  to  me,  then,  I  entreat  you, 
all  the  circumstances,  I  know  you  are 
a  faithful  reporter  of  the  discussions 
of  your  friends ;  but  first  tell  me,  were 
you  present  at  the  party  or  not?' 
'Your  informant/ 1  replied,  'seems  to 
have  given  you  no  very  clear  idea  of 
what  you  wish  to  hear,  if  he  thinks 
that  these  discussions  took  place  so 
lately  as  that  I  could  have  been  of  the 
party/  —  'Indeed,  I  thought  so/  re- 
plied  he. — '  For  how/  said  I, '  O  Glau- 
co!  could  I  have  been  present  ?  Do  you 
not  know  that  Agathon  has  been  ah- 
sent  from  the  city  many  years?  But, 
since  I  began  to  converse  with  Socra- 
tes,  and  to  observe  each  day  all  his 
words  and  actions,  three  years  are 
scarcely  past.  Before  this  time  I  wan- 
dered about  wherever  it  might  chance, 
thinking  that  I  did  something,  but  be- 

;          2 


ing,  in  truth,  a  most  miserable  wretch, 
not  less  than  you  are  now,  who  believe 
that  you  ought  to  do  anything  rather 
than  practise  the  love  of  wisdom/ — 
'Do  not  cavil/  interrupted  Glauco, 
'but  tell  me,  when  did  this  party  take 
place  ? ' 

'  \Vhilst  we  were  yet  children/  I  re^ 
plied/ when  Agathon  first  gained  the 
prize  of  tragedy,  and  the  day  after  that 
on  which  he  and  the  chorus  made  sac^ 
rifices  in  celebration  of  their  success/ 
— 'A  long  time  ago,  it  seems.  But  who 
told  you  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
discussion  ?  Did  you  hear  them  from 
Socrates  himself?' — 'No,  by  Jupiter ! 
but  the  same  person  from  whom  Phae^ 
nix  had  his  information,  one  AristO" 
demus,  a  Cydathenean, — a  little  man 
who  always  went  about  without 
dais.  He  was  present  at  this  feast, 

3 


ing,  I  believe,  more  than  any  of  his  con- 
temporaries, a  lover  and  admirer  of 
Socrates.  I  have  questioned  Socrates 
concerning  some  of  the  circumstances 
of  his  narration,  who  confirms  all  that 
I  have  heard  from  Aristodemus/  — 
*\Vhy,  then/  said  Glauco,'  why  not  re- 
late them,  as  we  walk,  to  me  ?  The  road 
to  the  city  is  every  way  convenient, 
both  for  those  who  listen  and  those 
who  speak/ 

Thus  as  we  walked  I  gave  him  some 
account  of  those  discussions  concern- 
ing Love ;  since,  as  I  said  before,  I  re- 
member them  with  sufficient  accura- 
cy. If  I  am  required  to  relate  them  also 
to  you,  that  shall  willingly  be  done; 
for  whensoever  either  I  myself  talk  of 
philosophy,  or  listen  to  others  talking 
of  it,  in  addition  to  the  improvement 
which  I  conceive  there  arises  from 


such  conversation,  I  am  delighted  be- 
yond measure ;  but  whenever  I  hear 
your  discussions  about  moneyed  men 
and  great  proprietors,  I  am  weighed 
down  with  grief,  and  pity  you,  who, 
doing  nothing,  believe  that  you  are  do- 
ing something.  Perhaps  you  think  that 
I  am  a  miserable  wretch ;  and,  indeed, 
I  believe  that  you  think  truly.  I  do  not 
think,  but  well  know,  that  you  are  mis- 
erable. 

COMPANION.  You  are  always 
the  same,  Apollodorus — always  say- 
ing some  ill  of  yourself  and  others. 
Indeed,  you  seem  to  me  to  think  every 
one  miserable  except  Socrates,  begin- 
ning with  yourself.  I  do  not  know 
what  could  have  entitled  you  to  the 
surname  of  the  *  Madman/  for  I  am 
sure  you  are  consistent  enough,  for- 
ever inveighing  with  bitterness  against 


yourself  and  all  others  except  Socrates. 
APOLLODORUS.  My  dear friend, 
it  is  manifest  that  I  am  out  of  my  wits 
from  this  alone — that  I  have  such 
opinions  as  you  describe  concerning 
myself  and  you. 

COMPANION.  It  is  not  worth 
while,  Apollodorus,  to  dispute  now 
about  these  things ;  but  do  what  I  en^ 
treat  you,  and  relate  to  us  what  were 
these  discussions. 

APOLLODORUS.  They  were  such 
as  I  will  proceed  to  tell  you.  But  let 
me  attempt  to  relate  them  in  the  or^ 
der  which  Aristodemus  observed  in 
relating  them  to  me.  He  said  that  he 
met  Socrates  washed,  and,  contrary  to 
his  usual  custom,  sandalled,  and  hav^ 
ing  inquired  whither  he  went  so  gaily 
dressed,Socrates  replied,'!  am  going  to 
sup  at  Agathon's ;  yesterday  I  avoided 


it,  disliking  the  crowd,  which  would 
attend  at  the  prize  sacrifices  then  cele- 
brated ;  to-day  I  promised  to  be  there, 
and  I  made  myself  so  gay,  because  one 
ought  to  be  beautiful  to  approach  one 
who  is  beautiful  But  you,  Aristode- 
mus,  what  think  you  of  coming  unin- 
vited  to  supper?' — 'I  will  do/  he  re- 
plied,  'as  you  command/ — 'Follow, 
then,  that  we  may,  by  changing  its  ap- 
plication,  disarm  that  proverb  which 
says,  "To  the  feasts  of  the  good,  the 
good  come  uninvited/'  Homer,  in- 
deed,  seems  not  only  to  destroy,  but 
to  outrage  the  proverb ;  for,  describing 
Agamemnon  as  excellent  in  battle,  and 
Menelaus  but  a  faint-hearted  warrior, 
he  represents  Menelaus  as  coming  un- 
invited to  the  feast  of  one  better  and 
braver  than  himself/ — Aristodemus, 
hearing  this,  said,  'I  also  am  in  some 

7 


danger,  Socrates,  not  as  you  say,  but 
according  to  Homer,  of  approaching 
like  an  unworthy  inferior  the  banquet 
of  one  more  wise  and  excellent  than 
myself  Will  you  not,  then,  make  some 
excuse  for  me  ?  for  I  shall  not  confess 
that  I  came  uninvited,  but  shall  say 
that  I  was  invited  by  you/ — 'As  we 
walk  together/  said  Socrates,  'we  will 
consider  together  what  excuse  to  make 
— but  let  us  go/ 

Thus  discoursing,  they  proceeded. 
But  as  they  walked,  Socrates,  engaged 
in  some  deep  contemplation,  slack- 
ened his  pace,  and,  observing  Aristo- 
demus  waiting  for  him,  he  desired 
him  to  go  on  before*  When  Aristo- 
demus  arrived  at  Agathon's  house  he 
found  the  door  open,  and  it  occurred, 
somewhat  comically,  that  a  slave  met 

him  at  the  vestibule,  and  conducted 
8 


him  where  he  found  the  guests  already 
reclined.  As  soon  as  Agathon  saw  him, 
'You  arrive  just  in  time  to  sup  with 
us,  Aristodemus/  he  said; '  if  you  have 
any  other  purpose  in  your  visit,  defer 
it  to  a  better  opportunity.  I  was  look> 
ing  for  you  yesterday,  to  invite  you 
to  be  of  our  party ;  I  could  not  find  you 
anywhere.  But  how  is  it  that  you  do 
not  bring  Socrates  with  you  I ' 
But  he,  turning  round  and  not  seeing 
Socrates  behind  him,  said  to  Agathon, 
'  I  just  came  hither  in  his  company, 
being  invited  by  him  to  sup  with  you/ 
— '  You  did  well/  replied  Agathon, 
'to  come;  but  where  is  Socrates ?' — 
'  He  just  now  came  hither  behind  me; 
I  myself  wonder  where  he  can  be/ — 
'  Go  and  look,  boy/  said  Agathon, '  and 
bring  Socrates  in;  meanwhile,  you, 
Aristodemus,  recline  there  near  Eryxi- 


machus/  And  he  bade  a  slave  wash  his 
feet  that  he  might  recline./ Another 
slave,  meanwhile,  brought  word  that 
Socrates  had  retired  into  a  neighbour^ 
ing  vestibule,  where  he  stood,  and,  in 
spite  of  his  message,  refused  to  come 
in. — 'What  absurdity  you  talk! 'cried 
Agathon ;  'call  him,  and  do  not  leave 
him  till  he  comes/ — 'Let  him  alone, 
by  all  means/  said  Aristodemus ;  'it  is 
customary  with  him  sometimes  to  rex 
tire  in  this  way  and  stand  wherever  it 
may  chance.  He  will  come  presently, 
I  do  not  doubt ;  do  not  disturb  him/ 
— 'Well,  be  it  as  you  will/  said  Aga- 
thon ; '  as  it  is,  you  boys,  bring  supper 
for  the  rest ;  put  before  us  what  you 
will,  for  I  resolved  that  there  should 
be  no  master  of  the  feast.  Consider  me 
and  these  my  friends  as  guests,  whom 
you  have  invited  to  supper,  and  serve 


IO 


them  so  that  we  may  commend  you/ 
After  this  they  began  supper,  but  Soo 
rates  did  not  come  in.  Agathon  order- 
ed  him  to  be  called,  but  Aristodemus 
perpetually  forbade  it.  At  last  he  came 
in,  much  about  the  middle  of  supper, 
not  having  delayed  so  long  as  was  his 
custom*  Agathon  (who  happened  to 
be  reclining  at  the  end  of  the  table,  and 
alone)  said,  as  he  entered, '  Come  hither, 
Socrates,  and  sit  down  by  me;  so  that 
by  the  mere  touch  of  one  so  wise  as 
you  are,  I  may  enjoy  the  fruit  of  your 
meditations  in  the  vestibule ;  for  I  well 
know,  you  would  not  have  departed 
till  you  had  discovered  and  secured  it/ 
Socrates,  having  sate  down  as  he  was 
desired,  replied, '  It  would  be  well,  Aga- 
thon,  if  wisdom  were  of  such  a  na- 
ture, as  that  when  we  touched  each 
other,  it  would  overflow  of  its  own  ac- 


ii 


cord,  from  him  who  possesses  much 
to  him  who  possesses  little ;  like  the 
water  in  two  chalices,  which  will  flow 
through  a  flock  of  wool  from  the  full' 
er  into  the  emptier,  until  both  are  e^ 
quaL  If  wisdom  had  this  property,  I 
should  esteem  myself  most  fortunate 
in  reclining  near  to  you*  I  should  thus 
soon  be  filled,  I  think,  with  the  most 
beautiful  and  various  wisdom.  Mine, 
indeed,  is  something  obscure,  and 
doubtful,  and  dreamlike.  But  yours  is 
radiant,  and  has  been  crowned  with 
amplest  reward ;  for  though  you  are 
yet  so  young,  it  shone  forth  from  you, 
and  became  so  manifest  yesterday, 
that  more  than  thirty  thousand  Greeks 
can  bear  testimony  to  its  excellence 
and  loveliness/ — 'You  are  laughing 
at  me,  Socrates/  said  Agathon  ; '  but 
you  and  I  will  decide  this  controversy 


12 


about  wisdom  by  and  by,  taking  Bac" 
chus  for  our  judge.  At  present  turn  to 
your  supper/ 

After  Socrates  and  the  rest  had  fin- 
ished supper,  and  had  reclined  back 
on  their  couches,  and  the  libations  had 
been  poured  forth,  and  they  had  sung 
hymns  to  the  god,  and  all  other  rites 
which  are  customary  had  been  per- 
formed, they  turned  to  drinking. 
Then  Pausanias  made  this  kind  of 
proposal.  'Come,  my  friends/  said  he, 
'in  what  manner  will  it  be  pleasant- 
est  for  us  to  drink  ?  I  must  confess  to 
you  that,  in  reality,  I  am  not  very  well 
from  the  wine  we  drank  last  night, 
and  I  have  need  of  some  intermission. 
I  suspect  that  most  of  you  are  in  the 
same  condition,  for  you  were  here  yes- 
terday. Now  consider  how  we  shall 
drink  most  easily  and  comfortably/ 

13 


4  'Tis  a  good  proposal,  Pausanias/  said 
Aristophanes,  'to  contrive,  in  some 
way  or  other,  to  place  moderation  in 
our  cups,  I  was  one  of  those  who  were 
drenched  last  night/ — Eryximachus, 
the  son  of  Acumenius,  hearing  this, 
said,  *  I  am  of  your  opinion ;  I  only 
wish  to  know  one  thing — whether 
Agathon  is  in  the  humour  for  hard 
drinking  I* — 'Not  at  all/ replied  Aga- 
thon; 'I  confess  that  I  am  not  able  to 
drink  much  this  evening/ — 'It  is  an 
excellent  thing  for  us/  replied  Eryxi- 
machus— 'I  mean  myself,  Aristode- 
mus,  Phsedrus,  and  these  others — if 
you,  who  are  such  invincible  drinkers, 
now  refuse  to  drink.  I  ought  to  except 
Socrates,  for  he  is  capable  of  drinking 
everything  or  nothing ;  and  whatever 
we  shall  determine  will  equally  suit 
him.  Since,  then,  no  one  present  has 


any  desire  to  drink  much  wine,  I  shall 
perhaps  give  less  offence  if  I  declare  the 
nature  of  drunkenness.  The  science 
of  medicine  teaches  us  that  drunken^ 
ness  is  ver y  pernicious ;  nor  would  I 
choose  to  drink  immoderately  myself, 
or  counsel  another  to  do  so,  especially 
if  he  had  been  drunk  the  night  before/ 
—  'Yes/  said  Phsedrus,  the  MyrinU' 
sian, interrupting  him, 'I  have  been  ac- 
customed to  confide  in  you,  especially 
in  your  directions  concerning  medi^ 
cine ;  and  I  would  now  willingly  do 
so,  if  the  rest  will  do  the  same/  All  then 
agreed  that  they  would  drink  at  this 
present  banquet  not  for  drunkenness, 
but  for  pleasure* 

'Since,  then/  said  Eryximachus,  'it  is 
decided  that  no  one  shall  be  compelled 
to  drink  more  than  he  pleases,  I  think 
that  we  may  as  well  send  away  the 

15 


flute-player  to  play  to  herself;  or,  if  she 
likes,  to  the  women  within*  Let  us  de- 
vote  the  present  occasion  to  conver- 
sation between  ourselves,  and  if  you 
wish,  I  will  propose  to  you  what  shall 
be  the  subject  of  our  discussion/  All 
present  desired  and  entreated  that  he 
would  explain. '  The  exordium  of  my 
speech/  said  Eryximachus,  'will  be  in 
the  style  of  the  Menalippe  of  Euripi- 
des, for  the  story  which  I  am  about  to 
tell  belongs  not  to  me,  but  to  Phsedrus. 
Phsedrus  has  often  indignantly  com- 
plained to  me,  saying,"Is  it  not  strange, 
Eryximachus,  that  there  are  innumer- 
able hymns  and  paeans  composed  for 
the  other  gods,  but  that  not  one  of  the 
many  poets  who  spring  up  in  the  world 
has  ever  composed  a  verse  in  honour 
of  Love,  who  is  such  and  so  great  a 
god  ?  Nor  any  one  of  those  accom- 

16 


plished  sophists,  who,  like  the  famous 
Prodicus,  have  celebrated  the  praise  of 
Hercules  and  others,  has  ever  cele- 
brated  that  of  Love ;  but,  what  is  more 
astonishing,  I  have  lately  met  with  the 
book  of  some  philosopher,  in  which 
salt  is  extolled  on  account  of  its  util- 
ity, and  many  other  things  of  the  same 
nature  are  in  like  manner  extolled 
with  elaborate  praise.  That  so  much 
serious  thought  is  expended  on  such 
trifles,  and  that  no  man  has  dared  to 
this  day  to  frame  a  hymn  in  honour 
of  Love,  who  being  so  great  a  deity  is 
thus  neglected,  may  well  be  sufficient 
to  excite  my  indignation/1 
4 There  seemed  to  me  some  justice  in 
these  complaints  of  Phaedrus ;  I  pn> 
pose,  therefore,  at  the  same  time  for 
the  sake  of  giving  pleasure  to  Phx- 
drus,  and  that  we  may  on  the  present 

'7 


occasion  do  something  well  and  befit> 
ting  us,  that  this  god  should  receive 
from  those  who  are  now  present  the 
honour  which  is  most  due  to  him.  If 
you  agree  to  my  proposal,  an  excellent 
discussion  might  arise  on  the  subject. 
Every  one  ought,  according  to  my 
plan,  to  praise  Love  with  as  much  ek> 
quence  as  he  can.  Let  Phsedrus  begin 
first,  both  because  he  reclines  the  first 
in  order,  and  because  he  is  the  father 
of  the  discussion/ 

4  No  one  will  vote  against  you,  Eryxi- 
machus/  said  Socrates, '  for  how  can  I 
oppose  your  proposal,  who  am  ready 
to  confess  that  I  know  nothing  on  any 
subject  but  love?  Or  how  can  Aga^ 
thon,  or  Pausanias,  or  even  AristO' 
phanes,  whose  life  is  one  perpetual 
ministration  to  Venus  and  Bacchus  ? 
Or  how  can  any  other  whom  I  see 

18 


here?  Though  we  who  sit  last  are 
scarcely  on  an  equality  with  you ;  for 
if  those  who  speak  before  us  shall  have 
exhausted  the  subject  with  their  elo- 
quence  and  reasonings,  our  discourses 
will  be  superfluous.  But  in  the  name 
of  Good  Fortune,  let  Phsedrus  begin 
and  praise  Love/  The  whole  party 
agreed  to  what  Socrates  said,  and  en- 
treated  Phaedrus  to  begin, 
\Vhat  each  then  said  on  this  subject, 
Aristodemus  did  not  entirely  recol- 
lect, nor  do  I  recollect  all  that  he  re- 
lated to  me ;  but  only  the  speeches  of 
those  who  said  what  was  most  worthy 
of  remembrance.  First,  then,  Phsedrus 
began  thus: — 

'  Love  is  a  mighty  deity,  and  the  ob- 
ject of  admiration,  both  to  gods  and 
men,  for  many  and  for  various  claims ; 
but  especially  on  account  of  his  ori- 

19 


gin.  For  that  he  is  to  be  honoured  as 
one  of  the  most  ancient  of  the  gods, 
this  may  serve  as  a  testimony — that 
Love  has  no  parents,  nor  is  there  any 
poet  or  other  person  who  has  ever 
affirmed  that  there  are  such.  Hesiod 
says,  that  first "  Chaos  was  produced ; 
then  the  broad^bosomed  Earth,  to  be 
a  secure  foundation  for  all  things; 
then  Love/'  He  says,  that  after  Chaos 
these  two  \vere  produced,  the  Earth 
and  Love.  Parmenides,  speaking  of 
generation,  says: — "But  he  created 
Love  before  any  of  the  gods/'  Acusi' 
leus  agrees  with  Hesiod.  Love,  there^ 
fore,  is  universally  acknowledged  to 
be  among  the  oldest  of  things.  And  in 
addition  to  this,  Love  is  the  author  of 
our  greatest  advantages ;  for  I  cannot 
imagine  a  greater  happiness  and  ad> 
vantage  to  one  who  is  in  the  flower  of 


20 


youth  than  an  amiable  lover,  or  to  a 
lover  than  an  amiable  object  of  his 
love.  For  neither  birth,  nor  wealth,  nor 
honours,  can  awaken  in  the  minds  of 
men  the  principles  which  should  guide 
those  who  from  their  youth  aspire  to 
an  honourable  and  excellent  life,  as 
Love  awakens  them.  I  speak  of  the 
fear  of  shame,which  deters  them  from 
that  which  is  disgraceful  ;  and  the  love 
of  glory,  which  incites  to  honourable 
deeds.  For  it  is  not  possible  that  a  state 
or  private  person  should  accomplish, 
without  these  incitements,  anything 
beautiful  or  great.  I  assert,  then,  tEat 
should  one  who  loves  be  discovered  ^^ 
in  any  dishonourable  action,  or  tame^  | 
ly  enduring  insult  through  cowardice, 
he  would  feel  more  anguish  and  shame 
if  observed  by  the  object  of  his  pas- 
sion than  if  he  were  observed  by  his 


21 


father,  or  his  companions,  or  any  other 
person.  In  like  manner,  among  warnv 
ly  attached  friends,  a  man  is  especially 
grieved  to  be  discovered  by  his  friend 
in  any  dishonourable  act.  If  then,  by 
any  contrivance,  a  state  or  army  could 
be  composed  of  friends  bound  by 
strong  attachment,  it  is  beyond  calcu^ 
lation  how  excellently  they  would  ad' 
minister  their  affairs,  refraining  from 
anything  base,  contending  with  each 
other  for  the  acquirement  of  fame,  and 
exhibiting  such  valour  in  battle  as 
that,  though  few  in  numbers,  they 
might  subdue  all  mankind.  For  should 
one  friend  desert  the  ranks  or  cast 
away  his  arms  in  the  presence  of  the 
other,  he  would  suffer  far  acuter  shame 
from  that  one  person's  regard,  than 
from  the  regard  of  all  other  men.  A 
thousand  times  would  he  prefer  to  die, 

22 


rather  than  desert  the  object  of  his 
attachment,  and  not  succour  him  in 
danger. 

'There  is  none  so  worthless  whom 
Love  cannot  impel,  as  it  were  by  a  di" 
vine  inspiration,  towards  virtue,  even 
so  that  he  may  through  this  inspira^ 
tion  become  equal  to  one  who  might 
naturally  be  more  excellent ;  and,  in 
truth,  as  Homer  says,  the  God  breathes 
vigour  into  certain  heroes — so  Love 
breathes  into  those  who  love,  the  spirit 
which  is  produced  from  himself  Not 
only  men,  but  even  women  who  love, 
are  those  alone  who  willingly  expose 
themselves  to  die  for  others.  Alcestis, 
the  daughter  of  Pelias,  affords  to  the 
Greeks  a  remarkable  example  of  this 
opinion ;  she  alone  being  willing  to  die 
for  her  husband,  and  so  surpassing  his 
parents  in  the  affection  with  which 

23 


love  inspired  her  towards  him,  as  to 
make  them  appear,  in  the  comparison 
with  her,  strangers  to  their  own  child, 
and  related  to  him  merely  in  name ; 
and  so  lovely  and  admirable  did  this 
action  appear,  not  only  to  men,  but 
even  to  the  Gods,  that,  although  they 
conceded  the  prerogative  of  bringing 
back  the  spirit  from  death  to  few  a^ 
mong  the  many  who  then  performed 
excellent  and  honourable  deeds,  yet, 
delighted  with  this  action,  they  re- 
deemed  her  soul  from  the  infernal 
regions :  so  highly  do  the  Gods  hon- 
our  zeal  and  devotion  in  love.  They 
sent  back  indeed  Orpheus,  the  son  of 
CEagrus,  from  Hell,  with  his  purpose 
unfulfilled,  and,  showing  him  only 
the  spectre  of  her  for  whom  he  came, 
refused  to  render  up  herself  For  Or- 
pheus seemed  to  them,  not,  as  Alcestis, 
24 


to  have  dared  die  for  the  sake  of  her 
whom  he  loved,  and  thus  to  secure  to 
himself  a  perpetual  intercourse  with 
her  in  the  regions  to  which  she  had 
preceded  him,  but,  like  a  cowardly- 
musician,  to  have  contrived  to  descend 
alive  into  Hell;  and,  indeed,  they  ap- 
pointed  as  a  punishment  for  his  cow- 
ardice that  he  should  be  put  to  death 
by  women. 

'  Far  otherwise  did  they  reward  Achil- 
les,  the  son  of  Thetis,  whom  they  sent 
to  inhabit  the  islands  of  the  blessed. 
For  Achilles,  though  informed  by  his 
mother  that  his  own  death  would  en- 
sue upon  his  killing  Hector,  but  that 
if  he  refrained  from  it  he  might  return 
home  and  die  in  old  age,  yet  preferred 
revenging  and  honouring  his  beloved 
Patroclus ;  not  to  die  for  him  mere- 
ly, but  to  disdain  and  reject  that  life 

25 


which  he  had  ceased  to  share.  There- 
fore  the  Greeks  honoured  Achilles  be- 
yond  all  other  men,  because  he  thus 
preferred  his  friend  to  all  things  else. 
1  On  this  account  have  the  Gods  re- 
warded  Achilles  more  amply  than  Al- 
cestis ;  permitting  his  spirit  to  inhabit 
the  islands  of  the  blessed.  Hence  do  I  as- 
sert  that  Love  is  the  most  ancient  and 
venerable  of  deities,  and  most  powerful 
to  endow  mortals  with  the  possession 
of  happiness  and  virtue,  both  whilst 
they  live  and  after  they  die/ 
Thus  Aristodemus  reported  the  dis- 
course of  Phsedrus ;  and  after  Phse- 
drus,  he  said  that  some  others  spoke, 
whose  discourses  he  did  not  well  re- 
member.\Vhen  they  had  ceased,  Pau- 
sanias  began  thus :  — 
'Simply  to  praise  Love,  O  Phasdrus, 

seems  to  me  too  bounded  a  scope  for 
26 


our  discourse.  If  Love  were  one,  it 
would  be  well*  But  since  Love  is  not 
one,  I  will  endeavour  to  distinguish 
which  is  the  Love  whom  it  becomes 
us  to  praise,  and,  having  thus  discrimi- 
nated one  from  the  other,  will  attempt 
to  render  him  who  is  the  subject  of 
our  discourse  the  honour  due  to  his  di- 
vinity.  We  all  know  that  Venus  is 
never  without  Love ;  and  if  Venus 
were  one,  Love  would  be  one ;  but  since 
there  are  two  Venuses,  of  necessity 
also  must  there  be  two  Loves.  For  as- 
suredly are  there  two  Venuses ;  one, 
the  eldest,  the  daughter  of  Uranus, 
born  without  a  mother,  whom  we  call 
the  Uranian ;  the  other  younger,  the 
daughter  of  Jupiter  and  Dione,  whom 
we  call  thePandemian ; — of  necessity 
must  there  also  be  two  Loves,  the  Ura« 
nian  and  Pandemian  companions  of 

27 


these  goddesses.  It  is  becoming  to  praise 
all  the  Gods,  but  the  attributes  which 
fall  to  the  lot  of  each  may  be  distill' 
guished  and  selected*  For  any  particu^ 
lar  action  whatever,  in  itself  is  neither 
good  nor  evil ;  what  we  are  now  doing 
— drinking,  singing,  talking,  none  of 
these  things  are  good  in  themselves, 
but  the  mode  in  which  they  are  done 
stamps  them  with  its  own  nature;  and 
that  which  is  done  well  is  good,  and 
that  which  is  done  ill  is  evil  Thus,  not 
all  love,  nor  every  mode  of  love  is  beau^ 
tiful,  or  worthy  of  commendation,  but 
that  alone  which  excites  us  to  love 
worthily.  The  Love,  therefore,  which 
attends  upon  Venus  Pandemos  is,  in 
truth,  common  to  the  vulgar,  and  pre- 
sides over  transient  and  fortuitous 
connections,  and  is  worshipped  by  the 

least  excellent  of  mankind*  The  vota^ 
28 


ties  of  this  deity  seek  the  body  rather 
than  the  soul,  and  the  ignorant  rather 
than  the  wise,  disdaining  all  that  is 
honourable  and  lovely,  and  consider^ 
ing  how  they  shall  best  satisfy  their 
sensual  necessities*  This  love  is  derrv> 
ed  from  the  younger  goddess,  who  par-- 
takes in  her  nature  both  of  male  and 
female.  But  the  attendant  on  the  other, 
the  Uranian,  whose  nature  is  entirely 
masculine,  is  the  Love  who  inspires  us 
with  affection,  and  exempts  us  from 
all  wantonness  and  libertinism.  Those 
who  are  inspired  by  this  divinity  seek 
the  affections  of  those  who  are  en^ 
dowed  by  nature  with  greater  excel' 
lence  and  vigour  both  of  body  and 
mind.  And  it  is  easy  to  distinguish 
those  who  especially  exist  under  the 
influence  of  this  power,  by  their  choos^ 

ing  in  early  youth  as  the  objects  of 

29 


their  love  those  in  whom  the  intellect" 
ual  faculties  have  begun  to  develop. 
For  those  who  begin  to  love  in  this 
manner  seem  to  me  to  be  preparing 
to  pass  their  whole  life  together  in  a 
community  of  good  and  evil,  and  not 
ever  lightly  deceiving  those  who  love 
them,  to  be  faithless  to  their  vows. 
There  ought  to  be  a  law  that  none 
should  love  the  very  young :  so  much 
serious  affection  as  this  deity  enknv 
dies  should  not  be  doubtfully  bestow^ 
ed ;  for  the  body  and  mind  of  those  so 
young  are  yet  unformed,  and  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  foretell  what  will  be  their  fu" 
ture  tendencies  and  power.  The  good 
voluntarily  impose  this  law  upon 
themselves,  and  those  vulgar  lovers 
ought  to  be  compelled  to  the  same  ob^ 
servance,  as  we  deter  them  with  all  the 
power  of  the  laws  from  the  love  of 
30 


free  matrons.  For  these  are  the  persons 
whose  shameful  actions  embolden 
those  who  observe  their  importunity 
and  intemperance,  to  assert  that  it  is 
dishonourable  to  serve  and  gratify  the 
objects  of  our  love.  But  no  one  who 
does  this  gracefully,  and  according  to 
law,  can  justly  be  liable  to  the  impu- 
tation of  blame. 

'Not  only  friendship,  but  philosophy 
and  the  practice  of  the  gymnastic  exer- 
cises,  are  represented  as  dishonourable 
by  the  tyrannical  governments  under 
which  the  barbarians  live.  For  I  imag- 
ine it  would  little  conduce  to  the  bene- 
fit  of  the  governors,  that  the  governed 
should  be  disciplined  to  lofty  thoughts 
and  to  the  unity  and  communion  of 
steadfast  friendship,  of  which  admira- 
ble effects  the  tyrants  of  our  own  coun- 
try have  also  learned  that  Love  is  the 

31 


author.  For  the  love  of  Harmodius 
and  Aristogeiton,  strengthened  into  a 
firm  friendship,  dissolved  the  tyranny. 
Wherever,  therefore,  it  is  declared  dis^ 
honourable  in  any  case  to  serve  and  ben^ 
efit  friends,  that  law  is  a  mark  of  the 
depravity  of  the  legislator,  the  avarice 
and  tyranny  of  the  rulers,  and  the  cow^ 
ardice  of  those  who  are  ruled.  Wher^ 
ever  it  is  simply  declared  to  be  honour^ 
able  without  distinction  of  cases,  such 
a  declaration  denotes  dulness  and  want 
of  subtlety  of  mind  in  the  authors  of 
the  regulation.  Here  the  degrees  of 
praise  or  blame  to  be  attributed  by  law 
are  far  better  regulated ;  but  it  is  yet 
difficult  to  determine  the  cases  to 
which  they  should  refer. 
'It  is  evident,  however,  for  one  in 
whom  passion  is  enkindled,  it  is  more 
honourable  to  love  openly  than  se^ 
32 


cretly ;  and  most  honourable  to  love 
the  most  excellent  and  virtuous,  even 
if  they  should  be  less  beautiful  than 
others.  It  is  honourable  for  the  lover 
to  exhort  and  sustain  the  object  of  his 
love  in  virtuous  conduct.  It  is  con^ 
sidered  honourable  to  attain  the  love 
of  those  whom  we  seek,  and  the  con^ 
trary  shameful ;  and  to  facilitate  this 
attainment,  opinion  has  given  to  the 
lover  the  permission  of  acquiring  fax 
vour  by  the  most  extraordinary  devices, 
which  if  a  person  should  practise  for 
any  purpose  besides  this,  he  would  in^ 
cur-the  severest  reproof  of  philosophy. 
"For  if  any  one  desirous  of  accumulate 
ing  money,  or  ambitious  of  procuring 
power,  or  seeking  any  other  advan^ 
tage,  should,  like  a  lover  seeking  to 
acquire  the  favour  of  his  beloved,  env 
ploy  prayers  and  entreaties  in  his  ne^ 

33 


cessity,  and  swear  such  oaths  as  lovers 
swear,  and  sleep  before  the  threshold, 
and  offer  to  subject  himself  to  such 
slavery  as  no  slave  even  would  endure, 
he  would  be  frustrated  of  the  attain- 
ment  of  what  he  sought,  both  by  his 
enemies  and  friends ;  these  reviling 
him  for  his  flattery,  those  sharply  ad- 
monishing  him,  and  taking  to  them- 
selves  the  shame  of  his  servility.  But 
there  is  a  certain  grace  in  a  lover  who 
does  all  these  things,  so  that  he  alone 
may  do  them  without  dishonour.  It 
is  commonly  said  that  the  Gods  ac- 
cord pardon  to  the  lover  alone  if  he 
should  break  his  oath,  and  that  there 
is  no  oath  by  Venus,  Thus,  as  our 
law  declares,  both  Gods  and  men  have 
given  to  lovers  all  possible  indulgence, 
'  The  affair,  however,  I  imagine,  stands 
thus :  As  I  have  before  said,  love  can- 

34 


not  be  considered  in  itself  as  either 
honourable  or  dishonourable :  if  it  is 
honourably  pursued,  it  is  honourable; 
if  dishonourably,  dishonourable ;  it  is 
dishonourable  basely  to  serve  and  grat- 
ify a  worthless  person ;  it  is  honourable 
honourably  to  serve  a  person  of  virtue. 
That  Pandemic  lover  who  loves  rather 
the  body  than  the  soul  is  worthless,  nor 
can  be  constant  and  consistent,  since 
he  has  placed  his  affections  on  that 
which  has  no  stability.  For  as  soon  as 
the  flower  of  the  form,  which  was  the 
sole  object  of  his  desire,  has  faded,  then 
he  departs  and  is  seen  no  more ;  bound 
by  no  faith  nor  shame  of  his  many 
promises  and  persuasions.  But  he  who 
is  the  lover  of  virtuous  manners  is  con^ 
stant  during  life,  since  he  has  placed 
himself  in  harmony  and  desire  with 
that  which  is  consistent  with  itself 

35 


*  These  two  classes  of  persons  we  ought 
to  distinguish  with  careful  examina- 
tion,  so  that  we  may  serve  and  con- 
verse with  the  one  and  avoid  the  other ; 
determining,  by  that  inquiry,  by  what 
a  man  is  attracted,  and  for  what  the 
object  of  his  love  is  dear  to  him*  On 
the  same  account  it  is  considered  as 
dishonourable  to  be  inspired  with  love 
at  once,  lest  time  should  be  wanting 
to  know  and  approve  the  character  of 
the  object.  It  is  considered  dishonour- 
able to  be  captivated  by  the  allure- 
ments of  wealth  and  power,  or  terri- 
fied through  injuries  to  yield  up  the 
affections,  or  not  to  despise  in  the  com- 
parison with  an  unconstrained  choice 
all  political  influence  and  personal  ad- 
vantage. For  no  circumstance  is  there 
in  wealth  or  power  so  invariable  and 
consistent,  as  that  no  generous  friend- 
36 


ship  can  ever  spring  up  from  amongst 
them.  We  have  an  opinion  with  re^ 
spect  to  lovers  which  declares  that  it 
shall  not  be  considered  servile  or  dis' 
graceful,  though  the  lover  should  sulv 
mit  himself  to  any  species  of  slavery 
for  the  sake  of  his  beloved.  The  same 
opinion  holds  with  respect  to  those 
who  undergo  any  degradation  for  the 
sake  of  virtue.  And  also  it  is  esteemed 
among  us,  that  if  any  one  chooses  to 
serve  and  obey  another  for  the  pur^ 
pose  of  becoming  more  wise  or  more 
virtuous  through  the  intercourse  that 
might  thence  arise,  such  willing  slav^ 
ery  is  not  the  slavery  of  a  dishonest 
flatterer.  Through  this  we  should 
sider  in  the  same  light  a  servitude 
dertaken  for  the  sake  of  love  as  one  un^ 
dertaken  for  the  acquirement  of  wis^ 
dom  or  any  other  excellence,  if  indeed 

37 


the  devotion  of  a  lover  to  his  beloved 
is  to  be  considered  a  beautiful  thing, 
For  when  the  lover  and  the  beloved 
have  once  arrived  at  the  same  point, 
the  province  of  each  being  distinguish' 
ed :  the  one  able  to  assist  in  the  cultiva^ 
tion  of  the  mind  and  in  the  acquirement 
of  every  other  excellence;  the  other  yet 
requiring  education,  and  seeking  the 
possession  of  wisdom ;  then  alone,  by 
the  union  of  these  conditions,  and  in  no 
other  case,  is  it  honourable  for  the  be^ 
loved  to  yield  up  the  affections  to  the 
lover.  In  this  servitude  alone  there  is  no 
disgrace  in  being  deceived  and  defeat' 
ed  of  the  object  for  which  it  was  under-- 
taken ;  whereas  every  other  is  disgrace^ 
ful,  whether  we  are  deceived  or  no. 
'On  the  same  principle,  if  any  one 
seeks  the  friendship  of  another,  believ^ 
ing  him  to  be  virtuous,  for  the  sake  of 
38 


becoming  better  through  such  inter ' 
course  and  affection,  and  is  deceived, 
his  friend  turning  out  to  be  worthless, 
and  far  from  the  possession  of  virtue; 
yet  it  is  honourable  to  have  been  so  de- 
ceived.  For  such  a  one  seems  to  have 
submitted  to  a  kind  of  servitude,  be- 
cause  he  would  endure  anything  for 
the  sake  of  becoming  more  virtuous 
and  wise ;  a  disposition  of  mind  emi- 
gently  beautiful. 

4  This  is  that  Love  who  attends  on  the 
Uranian  deity,  and  is  Uranian ;  the 
author  of  innu merable  benefits  both  to 
the  state  and  to  individuals,  and  by  the 
necessity  of  whose  influence  those  who 
love  are  disciplined  into  the  zeal  of  vir- 
tue.  All  other  loves  are  the  attendants  on 
Venus  Pandemos,  So  much,  although 
unpremeditated,  is  what  I  have  to  de- 
liver on  the  subject  of  Love,O  Phaedrus/ 

39 


Pausanias  having  ceased  (for  so  the 
learned  teach  me  to  denote  the  chan^ 
ges  of  the  discourse),  Aristodemus  said 
that  it  came  to  the  turn  of  Aristopha^ 
nes  to  speak ;  but  it  happened  that, 
from  repletion  or  some  other  cause, 
he  had  an  hiccough  which  prevented 
him ;  so  he  turned  to  Eryximachus, 


thepjijsiciantwho  was  reclining  close 
beside  him,  and  said,  *  Eryximachus, 
it  is  but  fair  that  you  should  cure  my 
hiccough,  or  speak  instead  of  me  until 
it  is  over/ — 'I  will  do  both/ said  Eryxi' 
machus ;  *  I  will  speak  in  your  turn,  and 
you,  when  your  hiccough  has  ceased, 
shall  speak  in  mine.  Meanwhile,  if  you 
hold  your  breath  some  time,  it  will  sub" 
side*  If  not,  gargle  your  throat  with 
water ;  and  if  it  still  continue,  take 
something  to  stimulate  your  nostrils, 

and  sneeze ;  do  this  once  or  twice,  and 

40 


even  though  it  should  be  very  violent, 
it  will  cease/ — 'Whilst  you  speak/ 
said  Aristophanes, 'I  will  follow  your 
directions/ — Eryximachus  then  be- 
gan:  — 

*  Since  Pausanias,  beginning  his  dis- 
course  excellently,  placed  no  fit  com- 
pletion  and  development  to  it,  I  think 
it  necessary  to  attempt  to  fill  up  what 
he  has  left  unfinished.  He  has  reason- 
edwell  in  defining  Love  as  of  a  double 
nature*  The  science  of  medicine,  to 
which  I  have  addicted  myself,  seems 
to  teach  me  that  the  Love  which  im- 
pels  towards  those  who  are  beautiful, 
does  not  subsist  only  in  the  souls  of 
men,  but  in  the  bodies  also  of  those  of 
all  other  living  beings  which  are  pro- 
duced upon  earth,  and,  in  a  word,  in 
all  things  which  are.  So  wonderful  and 
mighty  is  this  divinity,  and  so  widely 

41 


is  his  influence  extended  over  all  di^ 
vine  and  human  things !  For  the  hon^ 
our  of  my  profession,  I  will  begin  by 
adducing  a  proof  from  medicine.  The 
nature  of  the  body  contains  within  it" 
self  this  double  Love,  For  that  which 
is  healthy  and  that  which  is  diseased 
in  a  body  differ  and  are  unlike  :  that 
which  is  unlike,  loves  and  desires  that 
which  is  unlike,  1  Love,  therefore,  is 
different  in  a  sane  and  in  a  diseased 
body,  Pausanias  has  asserted  rightly 
that  it  is  honourable  to  gratify  those 
things  in  the  body  which  are  good  and 
healthy,  and  in  this  consists  the  skill 
of  the  physician ;  whilst  those  which 
are  bad  and  diseased  ought  to  be  treat' 
ed  with  no  indulgence.  The  science 
of  medicine,  in  a  word,  is  a  knowledge 
of  the  love  affairs  of  the  body,  as  they 

bear  relation  to  repletion  and  evacu^ 

42 


ation ;  and  he  is  the  most  skilful 
sician  who  can  trace  those  operations 
of  the  good  and  evil  Love,  can  make 
the  one  change  places  with  the  other, 
and  attract  Love  into  those  parts  from 
which  he  is  absent,  or  expel  him  from 
those  which  he  ought  not  to  occupy. 
He  ought  to  make  those  things  which 
are  most  inimical,  friendly,  and  excite 
them  to  mutual  love.  But  those  things 
are  most  inimical,  which  are  most  op^ 
posite  to  each  other;  cold  to  heat,  bit' 
terness  to  sweetness,  dryness  to  moist' 
ure.  Our  progenitor,  ^Esculapius,  as 
the  poets  inform  us  (and  indeed  I  be^ 
lieve  them),  through  the  skill  which  he 
possessed  to  inspire  love  and  concord 
in  these  contending  principles,  estab' 
lished  the  science  of  medicine. 
'The  gymnastic  arts  and  agriculture, 
no  less  than  medicine,  are  exercised  uii' 

43 


der  the  dominion  of  this  God.  Music, 
as  any  one  may  perceive  who  yields  a 
very  slight  attention  to  the  subject,  o^ 
riginates  from  the  same  source ;  which 
Heraclitus  probably  meant,  though 
he  could  not  express  his  meaning  very 
clearly  in  words,  when  he  says,  "One 
though  apparently  differing,  yet  so  a^ 
grees  with  itself,  as  the  harmony  of  a 
lyre  and  a  bow,"  It  is  great  absurdity 
to  say  that  a  harmony  differs,  and  can 
exist  between  things  whilst  they  are 
dissimilar;  but  probably  he  meant  that 
from  sounds  which  first  differed,  like 
the  grave  and  the  acute,  and  which 
afterwards  agreed,  harmony  was  pro^ 
duced  according  to  musical  art.  For 
no  harmony  can  arise  from  the  grave 
and  the  acute  whilst  yet  they  differ. 
But  harmony  is  symphony:  sympho^ 
ny  is,  as  it  were,  concord.  But  it  is  inv 

44 


possible  that  concord  should  subsist 
between  things  that  differ,  so  long  as 
they  differ*  Between  things  which  are 
discordant  and  dissimilar  there  is  then 
no  harmony*  A  rhythm  is  produced 
from  that  which  is  quick,  and  that 
which  is  slow,  first  being  distinguish- 
ed and  opposed  to  each  other,  and  then 
made  accordant ;  so  does  medicine,  no 
less  than  music,  establish  a  concord 
between  the  objects  of  its  art,  produc- 
ing love  and  agreement  between  ad- 
verse things* 

'Music  is,  then,  the  knowledge  of  that 
which  relates  to  love  in  harmony  and 
system*  In  the  very  system  of  harmo- 
ny and  rhythm,  it  is  easy  to  distinguish 
love*  The  double  love  is  not  distin- 
guishable in  music  itself;  but  it  is  re- 
quired to  apply  it  to  the  service  of  man- 
kind by  system  and  harmony,  which 

45 


is  called  poetry,  or  the  composition  of 
melody ;  or  by  the  correct  use  of  songs 
and  measures  already  composed,  which 
is  called  discipline ;  then  one  can  be  dis- 
tinguished  from  the  other,  by  the  aid 
of  an  extremely  skilful  artist.  And  the 
better  love  ought  to  be  honoured  and 
preserved  for  the  sake  of  those  who 
are  virtuous,  and  that  the  nature  of  the 
vicious  may  be  changed  through  the 
inspiration  of  its  spirit.  This  is  that 
beautiful  Uranian  Love,  the  attend- 
ant on  the  Uranian  muse :  the  Pande- 
mian  is  the  attendant  of  Polyhymnia ; 
to  whose  influence  we  should  only  so 
far  subject  ourselves  as  to  derive  pleas- 
ure from  it  without  indulging  to  ex- 
cess ;  in  the  same  manner  as,  accord- 
ing to  our  art,  we  are  instructed  to  seek 
the  pleasures  of  the  table  only  so  far  as 

we  can  enjoy  them  without  the  con- 

46 


sequences  of  disease.  In  music,  there^ 
fore,  and  in  medicine,  and  in  all  other 
things,  human  and  divine,  this  double 
love  ought  to  be  traced  and  discrimix 
nated,  for  it  is  in  all  things. 
'  Even  the  constitution  of  the  seasons 
of  the  year  is  penetrated  with  these 
contending  principles.  For  so  often  as 
heat  and  cold,  dryness  and  moisture, 
of  which  I  spoke  before,  are  influenced 
by  the  more  benignant  love,  and  are 
harmoniously  and  temperately  inter^ 
mingled  with  the  seasons,  they  bring 
maturity  and  health  to  men,  and  to 
all  the  other  animals  and  plants.  But 
when  the  evil  and  injurious  love  as^ 
sumes  the  dominion  of  the  seasons  of 
the  year,  destruction  is  spread  widely 
abroad.  Then  pestilence  is  accustomed 
to  arise,  and  many  other  blights  and 
diseases  fall  upon  animals  and  plants : 

47 


and  hoar  frosts,  and  hails,  and  mildew 
on  the  corn  are  produced  from  that  ex- 
cessive  and  disorderly  love  with  which 
each  season  of  the  year  is  impelled  to- 
wards the  other;  the  motions  of  which, 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  stars,  is  called 
astronomy.  All  sacrifices,  and  all  those 
things  in  which  divination  is  concern- 
ed (for  these  things  are  the  links  by 
which  is  maintained  an  intercourse 
and  communion  between  the  Gods 
and  men),  are  nothing  else  than  the 
science  of  preservation  and  right  gov- 
ernment of  love*  For  impiety  is  accus- 
tomed to  spring  up  so  soon  as  anyone 
ceases  to  serve  the  more  honourable 
love,  and  worship  him  by  the  sacrifice 
of  good  actions ;  but  submits  himself 
to  the  influences  of  the  other,  in  rela- 
tion to  his  duties  towards  his  parents 

and  the  Gods,  and  the  living  and  the 
48 


dead.  It  is  the  object  of  divination  to 
distinguish  and  remedy  the  effects  of 
these  opposite  loves;  and  divination  is 
therefore  the  author  of  the  friendship 
of  Gods  and  men,  because  it  affords 
the  knowledge  of  what  in  matters  of 
love  is  lawful  or  unlawful  to  men* 
'Thus  every  species  of  love  possesses 
collectively  a  various  and  vast,  or  ratlv 
er  universal  power.  But  love  which  in- 
cites to  the  acquirement  of  its  objects 
according  to  virtue  and  wisdom,  pos- 
sesses the  most  exclusive  dominion, 
and  prepares  for  his  worshippers  the 
highest  happiness  through  the  mutual 
intercourse  of  social  kindness  which  it 
promotes  among  them,  and  through 
the  benevolence  which  he  attracts  to 
them  from  the  Gods,  our  superiors. 
'  Probably  in  thus  praising  love,  I  have 
unwillingly  omitted  many  things ;  but 

49 


it  is  your  business,  O  Aristophanes,  to 
fill  up  all  that  I  have  left  incomplete ; 
or  if  you  have  imagined  any  other 
mode  of  honouring  the  divinity ;  for  I 
observe  your  hiccough  is  over/ 
'Yes/  said  Aristophanes,  'but  not  be- 
fore  I  applied  the  sneezing,  I  wonder 
why  the  harmonious  construction  of 
our  body  should  require  such  noisy  op- 
erations as  sneezing ;  for  it  ceased  the 
moment  I  sneezed/ — '  Do  you  not  ob- 
serve  what  you  do,  my  good  Aristo^ 
phanes?'  said  Eryximachus;  'you  are 
going  to  speak,  and  you  predispose  us 
to  laughter,  and  compel  me  to  watch 
for  the  first  ridiculous  idea  which  you 
may  start  in  your  discourse,  when  you 
might  have  spoken  in  peace/ — 'Let 
me  unsay  what  I  have  said,  then/  re-- 
plied Aristophanes,  laughing. '  Do  not 
watch  me,  I  entreat  you ;  though  I  am 
50 


not  afraid  of  saying  what  is  laughable 
(since  that  would  be  all  gain,  and  quite 
in  the  accustomed  spirit  of  my  muse), 
but  lest  I  should  say  what  is  ridiculous/ 
— 'Do  you  think  to  throw  your  dart, 
and  escape  with  impunity,  Aristopha^ 
nes  >  Attend,  and  what  you  say  be  care- 
ful you  maintain ;  then,  perhaps,  if  it 
pleases  me,  I  may  dismiss  you  without 
question/ 

*  Indeed,  Eryximachus/  proceeded  Ar^ 
istpphanes, '  I  have  designed  that  my 
discourse  should  be  very  different  from 
yours  and  that  of  Pausanias.  It  seems 
to  me  that  mankind  are  by  no  means 
penetrated  with  a  conception  of  the 
power  of  Love,  or  they  would  have 
built  sumptuous  temples  and  altars, 
and  have  established  magnificent  rites 
of  sacrifice  in  his  honour ;  he  deserves 
worship  and  homage  more  than  all  the 

51 


other  Gods,  and  he  has  yet  received 
none.  For  Love  is  of  all  the  Gods  the 
most  friendly  to  mortals,  and  the  phy  - 
sician  of  those  wounds  whose  cure 
would  be  the  greatest  happiness  which 
could  be  conferred  upon  the  human 
race,  I  will  endeavour  to  unfold  to  you 
his  true  power,  and  you  can  relate 
what  I  declare  to  others. 
'You  ought  first  to  know  the  nature 
of  man,  and  the  adventures  he  has 
gone  through ;  for  his  nature  was  an- 
ciently  far  different  from  that  which 
it  is  at  present.  First,  then,  human  be- 
ings were  formerly  not  divided  into 
two  sexes,  male  and  female ;  there  was 
also  a  third,  common  to  both  the  oth- 
ers, the  name  of  which  remains,  though 
the  sex  itself  has  disappeared.  The  an- 
drogynous sex,  both  in  appearance  and 
in  name,  was  common  both  to  male 
52 


and  female ;  its  name  alone  remains, 
which  labours  under  a  reproach* 
'At  the  period  to  which  I  refer,  the 
form  of  every  human  being  was  round, 
the  back  and  the  sides  being  circularly 
joined,  and  each  had  four  arms  and  as 
many  legs ;  two  faces  fixed  upon  a  round 
neck,  exactly  like  each  other ;  one  head 
between  the  two  faces ;  four  ears,  and 
everything  else  as  from  such  propor^ 
tions  it  is  easy  to  conjecture,  Man 
walked  upright  as  now,  in  whatever  di« 
rection  he  pleased ;  but  when  he  wished 
to  go  fast  he  made  use  of  all  his  eight 
limbs,  and  proceeded  in  a  rapid  mo^ 
tion  by  rolling  circularly  round — like 
tumblers,  who  with  their  legs  in  the 
air  tumble  round  and  round.  We  ac<- 
count  for  the  production  of  three  sexes 
by  supposing  that,  at  the  beginning, 
the  male  was  produced  from  the  sun, 

53 


the  female  from  the  earth ;  and  that 
sex  which  participated  in  both  sexes, 
from  the  moon,  by  reason  of  the  an- 
drogynous  nature  of  the  moon.  They 
were  round,  and  their  mode  of  pro- 
ceeding was  round,  from  the  similarity 
which  must  needs  subsist  between 
them  and  their  parent. 
'They  were  strong  also,  and  had  as- 
piring thoughts.  They  it  was  who  lev- 
ied war  against  the  Gods ;  and  what 
Homer  writes  concerning  Ephialtus 
and  Otus,  that  they  sought  to  ascend 
heaven  and  dethrone  the  Gods,  in  re- 
ality relates  to  this  primitive  people. 
Jupiter  and  the  other  Gods  debated 
what  was  to  be  done  in  this  emergency. 
For  neither  could  they  prevail  on  them- 
selves to  destroy  them,  as  they  had  the 
giants,  with  thunder,  so  that  the  race 
should  be  abolished ;  for  in  that  case 

54 


they  would  be  deprived  of  the  hoiv 
ours  of  the  sacrifices  which  they  were 
in  the  custom  of  receiving  from  them ; 
nor  could  they  permit  a  continuance 
of  their  insolence  and  impiety,  Jupiter, 
with  some  difficulty  having  desired  si' 
lence,  at  length  spoke.  "I  think/'  said 
he,  "I  have  contrived  a  method  by 
which  we  may,  by  rendering  the  hu' 
man  race  more  feeble,  quell  the  inso' 
lence  which  they  exercise,  without  pro 
ceeding  to  their  utter  destruction.  I 
will  cut  each  of  them  in  half;  and  so 
they  will  at  once  be  weaker  and  more 
useful  on  account  of  their  numbers. 
They  shall  walk  upright  on  two  legs. 
If  they  show  any  more  insolence,  and 
will  not  keep  quiet,  I  will  cut  them  up 
in  half  again,  so  they  shall  go  about  hop' 
ping  on  one  leg/' 
'  So  saying,  he  cut  human  beings  in 

55 


half,  as  people  cut  eggs  before  they  salt 
them,  or  as  I  have  seen  eggs  cut  with 
hairs.  He  ordered  Apollo  to  take  each 
one  as  he  cut  him,  and  turn  his  face  and 
half  his  neck  towards  the  operation,  so 
that  by  contemplating  it  he  might  be^ 
come  more  cautious  and  humble;  and 
then,  to  cure  him,  Apollo  turned  the 
face  round,  and  drawing  the  skin  upon 
what  we  now  call  the  belly,  like  a  con^ 
tracted  pouch,  and  leaving  one  open^ 
ing,  that  which  is  called  the  navel,  tied 
it  in  the  middle.  He  then  smoothed 
many  other  wrinkles,  and  moulded  the 
breast  with  much  such  an  instrument 
as  the  leather^cutters  use  to  smooth 
the  skins  upon  the  block*  He  left  only 
a  few  wrinkles  in  the  belly,  near  the 
navel,  to  serve  as  a  record  of  its  former 
adventure.  Immediately  after  this  di' 

vision,  as  each  desired  to  possess  the 
56 


other  half  of  himself,  these  divided  peo^ 
pie  threw  their  arms  around  and  em^ 
braced  each  other,  seeking  to  grow  to^ 
gether ;  and  from  this  resolution  to  do 
nothing  without  the  other  half,  they 
died  of  hunger  and  weakness :  when 
one  half  died  and  the  other  was  left 
alive,  that  which  was  thus  left  sought 
the  other  and  folded  it  to  its  bosom ; 
whether  that  half  were  an  entire  wo^ 
man  (for  we  now  call  it  a  woman)  or  a 
man ;  and  thus  they  perished.  But  Ju-- 
piter,  pitying  them,  thought  of  another 
contrivance.  4 .  In  this  manner  is  gen^ 
eration  now  produced,  by  the  union  of 
male  and  female ;  so  that  from  the  env 
brace  of  a  man  and  woman  the  race  is 
propagated. 

'From  this  period,  mutual  love  has 
naturally  existed  between  human 
beings ;  that  reconciler  and  bond  of 

57 


union  of  their  original  nature,  which 
seeks  to  make  two  one,  and  to  heal  the 
divided  nature  of  man.  Every  one  of  us 
is  thus  the  half  of  what  may  be  prop' 
erly  termed  a  man,  and  like  a  psetta 
cut  in  two,  is  the  imperfect  portion  of 
an  entire  whole,  perpetually  necessi^ 
tated  to  seek  the  half  belonging  to  him. 
'Such  as  I  have  described  is  ever  an  af- 
fectionate lover  and  a  faithful  friend, 
delighting  in  that  which  is  in  conform^ 
ity  with  his  own  nature.  Whenever, 
therefore,  any  such  as  I  have  described 
are  impetuously  struck,  through  the 
sentiment  of  their  former  union,  with 
love  and  desire  and  the  want  of  conv 
munity,  they  are  unwilling  to  be  di' 
vided  even  for  a  moment.  These  are 
they  who  devote  their  whole  lives  to 
each  other,  with  a  vain  and  inexpres^ 
sible  longing  to  obtain  from  each  other 
58 


something  they  know  not  what ;  for  it 
is  not  merely  the  sensual  delights  of 
their  intercourse  for  the  sake  of  which 
they  dedicate  themselves  to  each  other 
with  such  serious  affection ;  but  the  soul 
of  each  manifestly  thirsts  for,  from  the 
other,  something  which  there  are  no 
words  to  describe,  and  divines  that 
which  it  seeks,  and  traces  obscurely  the 
footsteps  of  its  obscure  desire.  If  Vul- 
can should  say  to  persons  thus  affected, 
"  ^7  good  people,  what  is  it  that  you 
want  with  one  another  ? "  And  if,  while 
they  were  hesitating  what  to  answer, 
he  should  proceed  to  ask, "  Do  you  not 
desire  the  closest  union  and  singleness 
to  exist  between  you,  so  that  you  may 
never  be  divided  night  or  day/  If  so,  I 
will  melt  you  together,  and  make  you 
grow  into  one,  so  that  both  in  life  and 
death  ye  maybe  undivided.  Consider, 

59 


is  this  what  you  desire?  V/ill  it  content 
you  if  you  become  that  which  I  pro 
pose?"  we  all  know  that  no  one  would 
refuse  such  an  offer,  but  would  at  once 
feel  that  this  was  what  he  had  ever 
sought ;  and  intimately  to  mix  and 
melt  and  to  be  melted  together  with  his 
beloved,  so  that  one  should  be  made 
out  of  two, 

4  The  cause  of  this  desire  is,  that  accord' 
ing  to  our  original  nature,  we  were  once 
entire.  The  desire  and  the  pursuit  of  in' 
tegrity  and  union  is  that  which  we  all 
love.  First,  as  I  said,  we  were  entire,  but 
now  we  have  been  dwindled  through 
our  own  weakness,  as  the  Arcadians  by 
the  Lacedaemonians.  There  is  reason  to 
fear,  if  we  are  guilty  of  any  additional 
impiety  towards  the  Gods,  that  we  may 
be  cut  in  two  again,  and  may  go  about 

like  those  figures  painted  on  the  col' 

60 


umns,  divided  through  the  middle  of 
our  nostrils,  as  thin  as  lispse.  On  which 
account  every  man  ought  to  be  ex- 
horted  to  pay  due  reverence  to  the  Gods, 
that  we  may  escape  so  severe  a  punish- 
ment, and  obtain  those  things  which 
Love,  our  general  and  commander,  in- 
cites us  to  desire ;  against  whom  let  none 
rebel  by  exciting  the  hatred  of  the  Gods. 
For  if  we  continue  on  good  terms  with 
them,  we  may  discover  and  possess 
those  lost  and  concealed  objects  of  our 
love,  a  good-fortune  which  now  be- 
falls to  few. 

1 1  assert,  then,  that  the  happiness  of  all, 
both  men  and  women,  consists  singly 
in  the  fulfilment  of  their  love,  and  in 
that  possession  of  its  objects  by  which 
we  are  in  some  degree  restored  to  our 
ancient  nature.  If  this  be  the  comple- 
tion of  felicity,  that  must  necessarily 

61 


approach  nearest  to  it  in  which  we  ob- 
tain  the  possession  and  society  of  those 
whose  natures  most  intimately  accord 
with  our  own.  And  if  we  would  cele- 
brate any  God  as  the  author  of  this  ben- 
efit, we  should  justly  celebrate  Love 
with  hymns  of  joy;  who,  in  our  pres- 
ent condition,  brings  good  assistance  in 
our  necessity,  and  affords  great  hopes, 
if  we  persevere  in  piety  towards  the 
Gods,  that  he  will  restore  us  to  our  origi- 
nal state,  and  confer  on  us  the  complete 
happiness  alone  suited  to  our  nature. 
'Such,  Eryximachus,  is  my  discourse 
on  the  subject  of  Love  ;  different  in- 
deed from  yours,  which  I  nevertheless 
entreat  you  not  to  turn  into  ridicule, 
that  we  may  not  interrupt  what  each 
has  separately  to  deliver  on  the  subject/ 
'I  will  refrain  at  present/  said  Eryxi- 
machus, 'for  your  discourse  delighted 
62 


me.  And  if  I  did  not  know  that  Soo 
rates  and  Agathon  were  profoundly 
versed  in  the  science  of  love  affairs,  I 
should  fear  that  they  had  nothing  new 
to  say,  after  so  many  and  such  various 
imaginations.  As  it  is,  I  confide  in  the  fer- 
tility of  their  geniuses/ — 'Your  part 
of  the  contest  at  least  was  strenuously 
fought,  Eryximachus/  said  Socrates, 
'but  if  you  had  been  in  the  situation 
in  which  I  am,  or  rather  shall  be,  after 
the  discourse  of  Agathon,  like  me  you 
would  then  have  reason  to  fear,  and 
be  reduced  to  your  wits'  end/ — '  Socra- 
tes/ said  Agathon,  'wishes  to  confuse 
me  with  the  enchantments  of  his  wit, 
sufficiently  confused  already  with  the 
expectation  I  see  in  the  assembly  in 
favour  of  my  discourse/ — '  I  must  have 
lost  my  memory,  Agathon/replied  Soc- 
rates, 'if  I  imagined  that  you  could  be 

63 


disturbed  by  a  few  private  persons,  af  t" 
er  having  witnessed  your  firmness  and 
courage  in  ascending  the  rostrum  with 
the  actors,  and  in  calmly  reciting  your 
compositions  in  the  presence  of  so  great 
an  assembly  as  that  which  decreed  you 
the  prize  of  tragedy/ — 'What,  then, 
Socrates/  retorted  Agathon,  'do  you 
think  me  so  full  of  the  theatre  as  to  be 
ignorant  that  the  judgment  of  a  few 
wise  is  more  awful  than  that  of  a  multi^ 
tude  of  others,  to  one  who  rightly  baL 
ances  the  value  of  their  suffrages?* — 
'  I  should  judge  ill  indeed,  Agathon/  an^ 
swered  Socrates, '  in  thinking  you  capa^ 
ble  of  any  rude  and  unrefined  concep^ 
tion,  for  I  well  know  that  if  you  meet 
with  any  whom  you  consider  wise,  you 
esteem  such  alone  of  more  value  than 
all  others.  But  we  are  far  from  being 

entitled  to  this  distinction,  for  we  were 

64 


also  of  that  assembly,  and  to  be  nunv 
bered  among  the  rest.  But  should  you 
meet  with  any  who  are  really  wise,  you 
would  be  careful  to  say  nothing  in  their 
presence  which  you  thought  they  would 
not  approve — is  it  not  so  ? ' — '  Certain- 
ly/ replied  Agathon.  —  '  You  would 
not  then  exercise  the  same  caution  in 
the  presence  of  the  multitude  in  which 
they  were  included  i ' — '  My  dear  Aga- 
thon/said  Phsedrus,  interrupting  him, 
'if  you  answer  all  the  questions  of  Soc- 
rates, they  will  never  have  an  end ;  he 
will  urge  them  without  conscience  so 
long  as  he  can  get  any  person,  especially 
one  who  is  so  beautiful,  to  dispute  with 
him.  I  own  it  delights  me  to  hear  Soc- 
rates discuss  ;  but  at  present  I  must  see 
that  Love  is  not  defrauded  of  the  praise, 
which  it  is  my  province  to  exact  from 
each  of  you.  Pay  the  God  his  due,  and 

65 


then  reason  between  yourselves  if  you 
will/ 

*  Your  admonition  is  just,  Phsedrus/  re- 
plied Agathon,  'nor  need  any  reason- 
ing I  hold  with  Socrates  impede  me :  we 
shall  find  many  future  opportunities 
for  discussion.  I  will  begin  my  discourse, 
then,  first  having  defined  what  ought 
to  be  the  subject  of  it.  All  who  have  al- 
ready spoken  seem  to  me  not  so  much  to 
have  praised  Love,  as  to  have  felicitat- 
ed mankind  on  the  many  advantages 
of  which  that  deity  is  the  cause;  what 
he  is,  the  author  of  these  great  benefits, 
none  have  yet  declared.  There  is  one 
mode  alone  of  celebration  which  would 
comprehend  the  whole  topic,  namely, 
first  to  declare  what  are  those  benefits, 
and  then  what  he  is  who  is  the  author 
of  those  benefits,  which  are  the  subject 
of  our  discourse.  Love  ought  first  to  be 

66      ' 


praised,  and  then  his  gifts  declared.  I 
assert,  then,  that  although  all  the  Gods 
are  immortally  happy,  Love,  if  I  dare 
trust  my  voice  to  express  so  awful  a 
truth,  is  the  happiest,  and  most  excel' 
lent,  and  the  most  beautiful  That  he 
is  the  most  beautiful  is  evident;  first, 
O  Phsedrus,  from  this  circumstance, 
that  he  is  the  youngest  of  the  Gods ; 
and  secondly,  from  his  fleetness,  and 
from  his  repugnance  to  all  that  is  old ; 
for  he  escapes  with  the  swiftness  of 
wings  from  old  age,  a  thing  in  itself 
sufficiently  swift,  since  it  overtakes  us 
sooner  than  there  is  need;  and  which 
Love,  who  delights  in  the  intercourse 
of  the  young,  hates,  and  in  no  manner 
can  be  induced  to  enter  into  commu' 
nity  with.  The  ancient  proverb,  which 
says  that  like  is  attracted  by  like,  ap- 
plies to  the  attributes  of  Love.  I  con- 

67 


cede  many  things  to  you,  O  Phsedrus, 
but  this  I  do  not  concede,  that  Love  is 
more  ancient  than  Saturn  and  Jupiter. 
I  assert  that  he  is  not  only  the  young' 
est  of  the  Gods,  but  invested  with  ever^ 
lasting  youth*  Those  ancient  deeds % 
among  the  Gods  recorded  by  Hesiod 
and  Parmenides,  if  their  relations  are 
to  be  considered  as  true,  were  produced 
not  by  Love,  but  by  Necessity.  For  if 
Love  had  been  then  in  Heaven,  those 
violent  and  sanguinary  crimes  never 
would  have  taken  place;  but  there 
would  ever  have  subsisted  that  affec^ 
tion  and  peace,  in  which  the  Gods  now 
live,  under  the  influence  of  Love. 
'He  is  young,  therefore,  and  being 
young  is  tender  and  soft.  There  were 
need  of  some  poet  like  Homer  to  cele^ 
brate  the  delicacy  and  tenderness  of 

Love.  For  Homer  says,  that  the  goddess 
68 


Calamity  is  delicate,  and  that  her  feet 
are  tender. "  Her  feet  are  soft/'  he  says, 
"for  she  treads  not  upon  the  ground, 
birt  naakes  her  path  upon  the  heads  of 
men/'  He  gives  as  an  evidence  of  her 
tenderness,  that  she  walks  not  upon 
that  which  is  hard,  but  that  which  is 
soft.  The  same  evidence  is  sufficient  to 
make  manifest  the  tenderness  of  Love. 
For  Love  walks  not  upon  the  earth,  nor 
over  the  heads  of  men,  which  are  not 
indeed  very  soft ;  but  he  dwells  within, 
and  treads  on  the  softest  of  existing 
things,  having  established  his  habita- 
tion  within  the  souls  and  inmost  nat- 
ure of  Gods  and  men ;  not  indeed  in  all 
souls — for  wherever  he  chances  to  find 
a  hard  and  rugged  disposition,  there 
he  will  not  inhabit,  but  only  where  it 
is  most  soft  and  tender.  Of  needs  must 

he  be  the  most  delicate  of  all  things, 

69 


who  touches  lightly  with  his  feet  only 
the  softest  parts  of  those  things  which 
are  the  softest  of  all. 
'  He  is  then  the  youngest  and  most  deli- 
cate of  all  divinities ;  and  in  addition 
to  this  he  is,  as  it  were,  the  most  moist 
and  liquid.  For  if  he  were  otherwise 
he  could  not,  as  he  does,  fold  himself 
around  everything,  and  secretly  flow 
out  and  into  every  soul  His  loveliness, 
that  which  Love  possesses  far  beyond 
all  other  things,  is  a  manifestation  of 
the  liquid  and  flowing  symmetry  of 
his  form ;  for  between  deformity  and 
Love  there  is  eternal  contrast  and  re- 
pugnance. His  life  is  spent  among  flow- 
ers, and  this  accounts  for  the  immortal 
fairness  of  his  skin ;  for  the  winged 
Love  rests  not  in  his  flight  on  any  form, 
or  within  any  soul  the  flower  of  whose 

loveliness  is  faded,  but  there  remains 

70 


most  willingly  where  is  the  odour  and 
radiance  of  blossoms  yet  un  withered. 
Concerning  the  beauty  of  the  God,  let 
this  be  sufficient,  though  many  things 
must  remain  unsaid.  Let  us  next  con^ 
sider  the  virtue  and  power  of  Love, 
'What  is  most  admirable  in  Love  is, 
that  he  neither  inflicts  nor  endures  nv 
jury  in  his  relations  either  with  Gods 
or  men.  Nor  if  he  suffers  anything 
does  he  suffer  it  through  violence,  nor 
doing  anything  does  he  act  it  with  vio^ 
lence,  for  Love  is  never  even  touched 
with  violence.  Every  one  willingly  ad- 
ministers everything  to  Love ;  and  that 
which  every  one  voluntarily  concedes 
to  another,  the  laws,  which  are  the  kings 
of  the  republic,  decree  that  it  is  just  for 
him  to  possess.  In  addition  to  justice, 
Love  participates  in  the  highest  tem- 
perance ;  for  if  temperance  is  defined 

71 


to  be  the  being  superior  to  and  holding 
under  dominion  pleasures  and  desires, 
then  Love,  than  whom  no  pleasure  is 
more  powerful,  and  who  is  thus  more 
powerful  than  all  persuasions  and  de- 
lights, must  be  excellently  temperate. 
In  power  and  valour  Mars  cannot  con- 
tend with  Love ;  the  love  of  Venus  pos- 
sesses Mars ;  the  possessor  is  always 
superior  to  the  possessed,  and  he  who 
subdues  the  most  powerful  must  of  ne- 
cessity be  the  most  powerful  of  all. 
'The  justice  and  temperance  and  val- 
our of  the  God  have  been  thus  declared ; 
there  remains  to  exhibit  his  wisdom. 
And  first,  that,  like  Ery ximachus,  I  may 
honour  my  own  profession,  the  God 
is  a  wise  poet ;  so  wise  that  he  can  even 
make  a  poet  one  who  was  not  before: 
for  every  one,  even  if  before  he  were 

ever  so  undisciplined,  becomes  a  poet 

72 


as  soon  as  he  is  touched  by  Love, — a 
sufficient  proof  that  Love  is  a  great  poet, 
and  well  skilled  in  that  science  accord" 
ing  to  the  discipline  of  music.  For  what 
any  one  possesses  not,  or  knows  not, 
that  can  he  neither  give  nor  teach  an^ 
other*  And  who  will  deny  that  the  di' 
vine  poetry,  by  which  all  living  things 
are  produced  upon  the  earth,  is  har^ 
monized  by  the  wisdom  of  Love  ?  Is  it 
not  evident  that  Love  was  the  author 
of  all  the  arts  of  life  with  which  we  are 
acquainted,  and  that  he  whose  teacher 
has  been  Love  becomes  eminent  and 
illustrious,  whilst  he  who  knows  not 
Love  remains  for  ever  unregarded  and 
obscure  ?  Apollo  invented  medicine, 
and  divination,  and  archery,  under 
the  guidance  of  desire  and  Love ;  so 
that  Apollo  was  the  disciple  of  Love. 
Through  him  the  Muses  discovered 

73 


the  arts  of  literature,  and  Vulcan  that 
of  moulding  brass,  and  Minerva  the 
loom,  and  Jupiter  the  mystery  of  the 
dominion  which  he  now  exercises 
over  Gods  and  men.  So  were  the  Gods 
taught  and  disciplined  by  the  love  of 
that  which  is  beautiful,  for  there  is  no 
love  towards  deformity, 
'  At  the  origin  of  things,  as  I  have  be^ 
fore  said,  many  fearful  deeds  are  report' 
ed  to  have  been  done  among  the  Gods, 
on  account  of  the  dominion  of  Neces^ 
sity.  But  so  soon  as  this  deity  sprang 
forth  from  the  desire  which  for  ever 
tends  in  the  universe  towards  that 
which  is  lovely,  then  all  blessings  de^ 
scended  upon  all  living  things,  human 
and  divine.  Love  seems  to  me,  O  Phse^ 
drus,  a  divinity  the  most  beautiful  and 
the  best  of  all,  and  the  author  to  all 
others  of  the  excellencies  with  which 

74 


his  own  nature  is  endowed.  Nor  can  I 
restrain  the  poetic  enthusiasm  which 
takes  possession  of  my  discourse,  and 
bids  me  declare  that  Love  is  the  divin^ 
ity  who  creates  peace  among  men,  and 
calm  upon  the  sea,  the  windless  silence 
of  storms,  repose  and  sleep  in  sadness. 
Love  divests  us  of  all  alienation  from 
each  other,  and  fills  our  vacant  hearts 
with  overflowing  sympathy;  he  gatlv 
ers  us  together  in  such  social  meetings 
as  we  now  delight  to  celebrate,  our 
guardian  and  our  guide  in  dances,  and 
sacrifices,  and  feasts.  Yes,  Love,  who 
showers  benignity  upon  the  world,  and 
before  whose  presence  all  harsh  pas^ 
sions  flee  and  perish ;  the  author  of  all 
soft  affections ;  the  destroyer  of  all  un^ 
gentle  thoughts ;  merciful,  mild ;  the 
object  of  t/i  e  $<i~m  i  ration  of  the  wise, 
of  Gods ;  possessed  by 
75 


the  fortunate,  and  desired  by  the  un^ 
happy,  therefore  unhappy  because  they 
possess  him  not ;  the  father  of  grace, 
and  delicacy,  and  gentleness,  and  de^ 
light,  and  persuasion,  and  desire ;  the 
cherisher  of  all  that  is  good,  the  aboL 
isher  of  all  evil ;  our  most  excellent  pi' 
lot,  defence,  saviour,  and  guardian  in 
labour  and  in  fear,  in  desire  and  in  rea^ 
son ;  the  ornament  and  governor  of  all 
things  human  and  divine;  the  best,  the 
loveliest ;  in  whose  footsteps  every  one 
ought  to  follow,  celebrating  him  ex^ 
cellently  in  song,  and  bearing  each  his 
part  in  that  divinest  harmony  which 
Love  sings  to  all  things  which  live  and 
are,  soothing  the  troubled  minds  of 
Gods  and  men.  This,  O  Phaedrus,  is 
what  I  have  to  offer  in  praise  of  the 
divinity ;  partly  composed,  indeed,  of 

thoughtless  and  playful  fancies,  and 
76 


parti y  of  such  serious  ones  as  I  could 
well  command/ 

No  sooner  had  Agathon  ceased  than 
a  loud  murmur  of  applause  arose  from 
all  present,  so  becomingly  had  the  fair 
youth  spoken,  both  in  praise  of  the 
God  and  in  extenuation  of  himself. 
Then  Socrates,  addressing  Eryxima^ 
chus,  said,  'Was  not  my  fear  reason  ^ 
able,  son  of  Acumenius  ?  Did  I  not  di' 
vine  what  has,  in  fact,  happened, — that 
Agathon's  discourse  would  be  so  won^ 
derfully  beautiful  as  to  preoccupy  all 
interest  in  what  I  should  say  ? ' — '  You, 
indeed,  divined  well  so  far,  O  Socra^ 
tes/  said  Eryximachus,  'that  Agathon 
would  speak  eloquently,  but  not  that, 
therefore,  you  would  be  reduced  to  any 
difficulty/  — '  How,  my  good  friend, 
can  I  or  any  one  else  be  otherwise  than 
reduced  to  difficulty,  who  speak  after 

77 


a  discourse  so  various  and  so  eloquent, 
and  which  otherwise  had  been  suffi^ 
ciently  wonderful,  if,  at  the  conclusion, 
the  splendour  of  the  sentences  and  the 
choice  selection  of  the  expressions  had 
not  struck  all  the  hearers  with  astonish' 
ment  i  so  that  I,  who  well  know  that  I 
can  never  say  anything  nearly  so  beau- 
tiful  as  this,  would,  if  there  had  been 
any  escape,  have  run  away  for  shame. 
The  story  of  Gorgias  came  into  my 
mind,  and  I  was  afraid  lest  in  reality 
I  should  suffer  what  Homer  describes ; 
and  lest  Agathon,  scanning  my  dis- 
course  with  the  head  of  the  eloquent 
Gorgias,  should  turn  me  to  stone  for 
speechlessness.  I  immediately  perceiv' 
ed  how  ridiculously  I  had  engaged  my- 
self with  you  to  assume  a  part  in  ren- 
dering  praise  to  Love,  and  had  boasted 
that  I  was  well  skilled  in  amatory  mat- 
78 


ters,  being  so  ignorant  of  the  manner 
in  which  it  is  becoming  to  render  him 
honour,  as  I  now  perceive  myself  to  be. 
I,  in  my  simplicity,  imagined  that  the 
truth  ought  to  be  spoken  concerning 
each  of  the  topics  of  our  praise,  and  that 
it  would  be  sufficient,  choosing  those 
which  are  the  most  honourable  to  the 
God,  to  place  them  in  as  luminous  an 
arrangement  as  we  could.  I  had,  there" 
fore,  great  hopes  that  I  should  speak 
satisfactorily,  being  well  aware  that  I 
was  acquainted  with  the  true  founda^ 
tions  of  the  praise  which  we  have  en^ 
gaged  to  render.  But  since,  as  it  appears, 
our  purpose  has  been,  not  to  render 
Love  his  due  honour,  but  to  accumu^ 
late  the  most  beautiful  and  the  great" 
est  attributes  of  his  divinity,  whether 
they  in  truth  belong  to  it  or  not,  and 
that  the  proposed  question  is  not  how 

79 


Love  ought  to  be  praised,  but  how  we 
should  praise  him  most  eloquently,  my 
attempt  must  of  necessity  fail.  It  is  on 
this  account,  I  imagine,  that  in  your 
discourses  you  have  attributed  every ' 
thing  to  Love,  and  have  described  him 
to  be  the  author  of  such  and  so  great 
effects  as,  to  those  who  are  ignorant  of 
his  true  nature,  may  exhibit  him  as  the 
most  beautiful  and  the  best  of  all  things. 
Not,  indeed,  to  those  who  know  the 
truth.  Such  praise  has  a  splendid  and 
imposing  effect,  but  as  I  am  unac^ 
quainted  with  the  art  of  rendering  it, 
my  mind,  which  could  not  foresee  what 
would  be  required  of  me,  absolves  me 
from  that  which  my  tongue  promised. 
Farewell,  then,  for  such  praise  I  can 
never  render. 
*  But  if  you  desire,  I  will  speak  what  I 

feel  to  be  true ;  and  that  I  may  not  ex- 
80 


pose  myself  to  ridicule,  I  entreat  you  to 
consider  that  I  speak  without  entering 
into  competition  with  those  who  have 
preceded  me.  Consider,  then,  Phsedrus, 
whether  you  will  exact  from  me  such 
a  discourse,  containing  the  mere  truth 
with  respect  to  Love,  and  composed  of 
such  unpremeditated  expressions  as 
may  chance  to  offer  themselves  to  my 
mind/ — Phaedrus  and  the  rest  bade 
him  speak  in  the  manner  which  he 
judged  most  befitting. — 'Permit  me, 
then,  O  Phaedrus,  to  ask  Agathon  a 
few  questions,  so  that,  confirmed  by  his 
agreement  with  me,  I  may  proceed/ 
—'Willingly/  replied  Phaedrus,  'ask/ 
— Then  Socrates  thus  began: — 
'I  applaud,  dear  Agathon,  the  begin^ 
ning  of  your  discourse,  where  you  say 
we  ought  first  to  define  and  declare 

what  Love  is,  and  then  his  works.  This 

81 


rule  I  particularly  approve.  But,  come, 
since  you  have  given  us  a  discourse  of 
such  beauty  and  majesty  concerning 
Love,  you  are  able,  I  doubt  not,  to  ex- 
plain  this  question,  whether  Love  is  the 
love  of  something  or  nothing  ?  I  do  not 
ask  you  of  what  parents  Love  is ;  for 
the  inquiry,  of  whether  Love  is  the  love 
of  any  father  or  mother,  would  be  suffr 
ciently  ridiculous.  But  if  I  were  asking 
you  to  describe  that  which  a  father  is, 
I  should  ask,  not  whether  a  father  was 
the  love  of  any  one,  but  whether  a  fath- 
er was  the  father  of  any  one  or  not ;  you 
would  undoubtedly  reply,  that  a  father 
was  the  father  of  a  son  or  daughter ; 
would  you  not  I ' — 'Assuredly/ — '  You 
would  define  a  mother  in  the  same  man- 
ner > ' — '  Without  doubt/ — '  Yet  bear 
with  me,  and  answer  a  few  more  ques^ 

tions,  for  I  would  learn  from  you  that 
82 


which  I  wish  to  know.  If  I  should 
inquire,  in  addition,  is  not  a  brother, 
through  the  very  nature  of  his  relation, 
the  brother  of  some  one  / ' — '  Certain  x 
ly/ — 4  Of  a  brother  or  sister,  is  he  not  i ' 
— 'Without  question/ — 'Try  to  ex^ 
plain  to  me,  then,  the  nature  of  Love ; 
Love  is  the  love  of  something  or  noth^ 
ing  I ' — '  Of  something,  certainly/ 
'Observe  and  remember  this  conces^ 
sion.  Tell  me  yet  farther  whether  Love 
desires  that  of  which  it  is  the  Love 
or  not?' — 'It  desires  it,  assuredly/ — 
'Whether,  possessing  that  which  it  de^ 
sires  and  loves,  or  not  possessing  it,  does 
it  desire  and  love  /' — 'Not  possessing 
it,  I  should  imagine/ — 'Observe  now, 
whether  it  does  not  appear  that,  of 
necessity,  desire  desires  that  which  it 
wants  and  does  not  possess,  and  no 
longer  desires  that  which  it  no  longer 

83 


wants :  this  appears  to  me,  Agathon ,  of 
necessity  to  be ;  how  does  it  appear  to 
you?' — 'It  appears  so  to  me  also/ — 
4  Would  any  one  who  was  already  illus^ 
trious  desire  to  be  illustrious  ?  would 
any  one  already  strong  desire  to  be 
strong?  From  what  has  already  been 
conceded,  it  follows  that  he  would  not* 
If  any  one  already  strong  should  de^ 
sire  to  be  strong ;  or  any  one  already 
swift  should  desire  to  be  swift ;  or  any 
one  already  healthy  should  desire  to 
be  healthy,  it  must  be  concluded  that 
they  still  desired  the  advantages  of 
which  they  already  seemed  possessed. 
To  destroy  the  foundation  of  this  er^ 
ror,  observe,  Agathon,  that  each  of 
these  persons  must  possess  the  several 
advantages  in  question,  at  the  moment 
present  to  our  thoughts,  whether  he 

will  or  no.  And  now,  is  it  possible  that 
84 


those  advantages  should  be  at  that 
time  the  objects  of  his  desire  I  For,  if 
any  one  should  say,  being  in  health, 
"I  desire  to  be  in  health ;"  being  rich, 
"I  desire  to  be  rich,  and  thus  still  de- 
sire those  things  which  I  already  pos- 
sess,"  we  might  say  to  him,"  You,  my 
friend,  possess  health,  and  strength,  and 
riches ;  you  do  not  desire  to  possess 
now,  but  to  continue  to  possess  them 
in  future ;  for,  whether  you  will  or  no, 
they  now  belong  to  you.  Consider, 
then,  whether,  when  you  say  that  you 
desire  things  present  to  you,  and  in 
your  own  possession,  you  say  anything 
else  than  that  you  desire  the  advan- 
tages  to  be  for  the  future  also  in  your 
possession."  \Vhat  else  could  he  reply? ' 
— 'Nothing,  indeed/ — 'Is  not  Love, 
then,  the  love  of  that  which  is  not 
within  its  reach,  and  which  cannot 

85 


hold  in  security,  for  the  future,  those 
things  of  which  it  obtains  a  present  and 
transitory  possession ?' — 'Evidently/ 
— '  Love,  therefore,  and  everything  else 
that  desires  anything,  desires  that 
which  is  absent  and  beyond  his  reach, 
that  which  it  has  not,  that  which  is  not 
itself,  that  which  it  wants ;  such  are 
the  things  of  which  there  are  desire  and 
love/ — '  Assuredly/ 
'Come/  said  Socrates,  'let  us  review 
your  concessions.  Is  Love  anything  else 
than  the  love  first  of  something ;  and, 
secondly,  of  those  things  of  which  it 
has  need/' — 'Nothing/ — 'Now,  re- 
member of  those  things  you  said  in 
your  discourse,  that  Love  was  the  love 
—  if  you  wish  I  will  remind  you.  I 
think  you  said  something  of  this  kind, 
that  all  the  affairs  of  the  gods  were 

admirably  disposed  through  the  love 
86  I 

' 


of  the  things  which  are  beautiful ;  for 
there  was  no  love  of  things  deformed ; 
did  you  not  say  so  I* — 'I  confess  that 
I  did/ — 'You  said  what  was  most 
likely  to  be  true,  my  friend ;  and  if  the 
matter  be  so,  the  love  of  beauty  must 
be  one  thing,  and  the  love  of  defornv 
ity  another/ — '  Certainly/ — '  It  is  con-^ 
ceded,  then,  that  Love  loves  that  which 
he  wants,  but  possesses  not/' — 'Yes, 
certainly/ — '  But  Love  wants  and  does 
not  possess  beauty? ' — '  Indeed  it  must 
necessarily  follow/ — 'What,  then! 
call  you  that  beautiful  which  has  need 
of  beauty  and  possesses  not?' — 'As^ 
suredly  no/ — '  Do  you  still  assert,  then, 
that  Love  is  beautiful,  if  all  that  we 
have  said  be  true  ? ' — '  Indeed,  Socrates/ 
said  Agathon, '  I  am  in  danger  of  being 
convicted  of  ignorance,  with  respect  to 
all  that  I  then  spoke/ — 'You  spoke 

87 


most  eloquently,  my  dear  Agathon ; 
but  bear  with  my  questions  yet  a  mo^ 
ment.  You  admit  that  things  which  are 
good  are  also  beautiful  > ' — '  No  doubt/ 
— '  If  Love,  then,  be  in  want  of  beauti' 
ful  things,  and  things  which  are  good 
are  beautiful,  he  must  be  in  want  of 
things  which  are  good  I' — 'I  cannot  re^ 
fute  your  arguments,  Socrates/ — 'You 
cannot  refute  truth,  my  dear  Agathon : 
to  refute  Socrates  is  nothing  difficult. 
'But  I  will  dismiss  these  questionings. 
At  present  let  me  endeavour,  to  the 
best  of  my  power,  to  repeat  to  you,  on 
the  basis  of  the  points  which  have  been 
agreed  upon  between  me  and  Agathon, 
a  discourse  concerning  Love  which  I 
formerly  heard  from  the  prophetess 
Diotima,  who  was  profoundly  skilled 
in  this  and  many  other  doctrines,  and 
who,  ten  years  before  the  pestilence,  . 

88 


^4. 


procured  to  the  Athenians,  through 
their  sacrifices,  a  delay  of  the  disease; 
for  it  was  she  who  taught  me  the  sci" 
ence  of  things  relating  to  Love. 
*  As  you  well  remarked,  Agathon,  we 
ought  to  declare  who  and  what  is  Love, 
and  then  his  works.  It  is  easiest  to  re^ 
late  them  in  the  same  order  as  the  for^ 
eign  prophetess  observed  when,  ques^ 
tioning  me,  she  related  them.  For  I  said 
to  her  much  the  same  things  that  Ag' 
athon  has  just  said  to  me — that  Love 
was  a  great  deity,  and  that  he  was  beau^ 
tiful;  and  she  refuted  me  with  the  same 
reasons  as  I  have  employed  to  refute 
Agathon,  compelling  me  to  infer  that 
he  was  neither  beautiful  nor  good,  as 
I  said.—  "  What,  then/' I  objected," O 
Diotima,  is  Love  ugly  and  evil  I" — 
"  Good  words,  I  entreat  you/'  said  Di' 

otima;  "do  you  think  that  everything 

89 


which  is  not  beautiful  must  of  neces- 
sity  be  ugly  ? "—  "  Certainly/'—  "  And 
everything  that  is  not  wise,  ignorant  f 
Do  you  not  perceive  that  there  is  some- 
thing  between  ignorance  and  wisdom  ? " 
—  "  What  is  that  I" —  "To  have  a  right 
opinion  or  conjecture*  Observe,  that 
this  kind  of  opinion,  for  which  no  rea- 
son  can  be  rendered,  cannot  be  called 
knowledge ;  for  how  can  that  be  called 
knowledge  which  is  without  evidence 
or  reason  i  Nor  ignorance,  on  the  other 
hand ;  for  how  can  that  be  called  igno^ 
ranee  which  arrives  at  the  persuasion 
of  that  which  it  really  is?  A  right  opin- 
ion is  something  between  understand' 
ing  and  ignorance." — I  confessed  that 
what  she  alleged  was  true. — "Do  not 
then  say,"  she  continued, "  that  what  is 
not  beautiful  is  of  necessity  deformed, 

nor  what  is  not  good  is  of  necessity 
90         • 


evil ;  nor,  since  you  have  confessed  that 
Love  is  neither  beautiful  nor  good,  in- 
fer,  therefore,  that  he  is  deformed  or 
evil,  but  rather  something  intermedia 


ate." 


' "  But/'  I  said, "  Love  is  confessed  by  all 
to  be  a  great  God/' — "Do  you  mean, 
when  you  say  all,  all  those  who  know, 
or  those  who  know  not,  what  they 
say  ?  "  —  "  All  collectively/'  —  "  And 
how  can  that  be,  Socrates?"  said  she, 
laughing ;  "  how  can  he  be  acknowl" 
edged  to  be  a  great  God  by  those  who 
assert  that  he  is  not  even  a  God  at  all  i  "— 
"And  who  are  they?" I  said. — "You 
for  one,  and  I  for  another/' —  "  How 
can  you  say  that,  Diotima?" — "Ea- 
sily," she  replied, "and  with  truth;  for 
tell  me,  do  you  not  own  that  all  the 
Gods  are  beautiful  and  happy?  or  will 
you  presume  to  maintain  that  any 

91 


God  is  otherwise  I " —  "  Byjupiter,  not 
I!" — "Do  you  not  call  those  alone 
happy  who  possess  all  things  that  are 
beautiful  and  good?" — "Certainly/' 

—  "You  have  confessed  that  Love, 
through  his  desire  for  things  beautiful 
and  good,  possesses  not  those  materials 
of  happiness." —  "  Indeed,  such  was  my 
concession." — "  But  how  can  we  con^ 
ceive  a  God  to  be  without  the  posses^ 
sion  of  what  is  beautiful  and  good  i " 
— "In  no  manner,  I  confess." — "Ob^ 
serve,  then,  that  you  do  not  consider 
Love  to  be  a  God." — "\Vhat,  then," 
I  said,  "is  Love  a  mortal?" — "By  no 
means."—  "  But  what,  then } "—  "  Like 
those  things  which  I  have  before  in^ 
stanced,  he  is  neither  mortal  nor  inv 
mortal,  but  something  intermediate." 

—  "What  is  that,  O  Diotima?"— 

"A  great  daemon,  Socrates ;  and  every^ 
92 


thing  daemoniacal  holds  an  intermedia 
ate  place  between  what  is  divine  and 
what  is  mortal/' 

'"What  is  his  power  and  nature?"  I 
inquired. — "  He  interprets  and  makes 
a  communication  between  divine  and 
human  things,  conveying  the  prayers 
and  sacrifices  of  men  to  the  Gods,  and 
communicating  the  commands  and  di- 
rections  concerning  the  mode  of  wor- 
ship  most  pleasing  to  them,  from  Gods 
to  men.  He  fills  up  that  intermediate 
space  between  these  two  classes  of  be** 
ings,  so  as  to  bind  together,  by  his  own 
power,  the  whole  universe  of  things. 
Through  him  subsist  all  divination, 
and  the  science  of  sacred  things  as  it  re- 
lates  to  sacrifices,  and  expiations,  and 
disenchantments,  and  prophecy,  and 
magic.  The  divine  nature  cannot  im- 
mediately communicate  with  what  is 

93 


human,  but  all  that  intercourse  and 
converse  which  is  conceded  by  the 
Gods  to  men,  both  whilst  they  sleep 
and  when  they  wake,  subsists  through 
the  intervention  of  Love;  and  he  who 
is  wise  in  the  science  of  this  intercourse 
is  supremely  happy,  and  participates 
in  the  dsemoniacal  nature ;  whilst  he 
who  is  wise  in  any  other  science  or  art 
remains  a  mere  ordinary  slave.  These 
daemons  are,  indeed,  many  and  vari^ 
ous,  and  one  of  them  is  Love/' 
1 "  Who  are  the  parents  of  Love  ? "  I  HV 
quired, — "The  history  of  what  you 
ask,"  replied  Diotima,  "is  somewhat 
long ;  nevertheless  I  will  explain  it  to 
you.  On  the  birth  of  Venus  the  Gods 
celebrated  a  great  feast,  and  among 
them  came  Plenty,  the  son  of  Metis. 
After  supper,  Poverty,  observing  the 
profusion,  came  to  beg,  and  stood  be" 

94 


side  the  door.  Plenty  being  drunk  with 
nectar,  for  wine  was  not  yet  invented, 
went  out  intojupiter's  garden,  and  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep.  Poverty  wishing  to 
have  a  child  by  Plenty,  on  account  of 
her  low  estate,  lay  down  by  him,  and 
from  his  embraces  conceived  Love, 
Love  is,  therefore,  the  follower  and  ser- 
vant  of  Venus,  because  he  was  con- 
ceived  at  her  birth,  and  because  by  nat- 
ure he  is  a  lover  of  all  that  is  beautiful, 
and  Venus  was  beautiful.  And  since 
Love  is  the  child  of  Poverty  and  Plenty, 
his  nature  and  fortune  participate  in 
that  of  his  parents.  He  is  for  ever  poor, 
and  so  far  from  being  delicate  and 
beautiful,  as  mankind  imagine,  he  is 
squalid  and  withered ;  he  flies  low  a-* 
long  the  ground,  and  is  homeless  and 
unsandalled ;  he  sleeps  without  cover- 
ing before  the  doors,  and  in  the  un- 

95 


sheltered  streets ;  possessing  thus  far  his 
mother's  nature,  that  he  is  ever  the 
companion  of  \Vant.  But,  inasmuch 
as  he  participates  in  that  of  his  father, 
he  is  for  ever  scheming  to  obtain  things 
which  are  good  and  beautiful ;  he  is 
fearless,  vehement,  and  strong ;  a  dread' 
ful  hunter,  for  ever  weaving  some  new 
contrivance ;  exceedingly  cautious  and 
prudent,  and  full  of  resources ;  he  is  also, 
during  his  whole  existence,  a  philoso^ 
pher,  a  powerful  enchanter,  a  wizard, 
and  a  subtle  sophist.  And,  as  his  nat^ 
ure  is  neither  mortal  nor  immortal,  on 
the  same  day  when  he  is  fortunate  and 
successful,  he  will  at  one  time  flourish, 
and  then  die  away,  and  then,  accord^ 
ing  to  his  father's  nature,  again  revive* 
All  that  he  acquires  perpetually  flows 
away  from  him,  so  that  Love  is  never 

either  rich  or  poor,  and  holding  for  ever 
96 


an  intermediate  state  between  igno- 
rance and  wisdom.  The  case  stands 
thus : — No  God  philosophizes  or  de- 
sires  to  become  wise,  for  he  is  wise ;  nor, 
if  there  exist  any  other  being  who  is 
wise,  does  he  philosophize.  Nor  do  the 
ignorant  philosophize,  for  they  desire 
not  to  become  wise ;  for  this  is  the  evil 
of  ignorance,  that  he  who  has  neither 
intelligence,  nor  virtue,  nor  delicacy  of 
sentiment,  imagines  that  he  possesses 
all  those  things  sufficiently.  He  seeks 
not,  therefore,  that  possession,  of  whose 
want  he  is  not  aware/' —  "  Who,  then, 
O  Diotima,"  I  inquired,  "are  philoso- 
phers, if  they  are  neither  the  ignorant 
nor  the  wise  I " —  "  It  is  evident,  even  to 
a  child,  that  they  are  those  interme- 
diate persons,  among  whom  is  Love. 
For  Wisdom  is  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  things ;  Love  is  that  which 

97 


thirsts  for  the  beautiful,  so  that  Love  is 
of  necessity  a  philosopher,  philosophy 
being  an  intermediate  state  between 
ignorance  and  wisdom.  His  parentage 
accounts  for  his  condition,  being  the 
child  of  a  wise  and  welLprovided  fa^ 
ther,  and  of  a  mother  both  ignorant 
and  poor. 

'  "Such  is  the  demoniacal  nature,  my 
dear  Socrates ;  nor  do  I  wonder  at  your 
error  concerning  Love,  for  you  thought, 
as  I  conjecture  from  what  you  say,  that 
Love  was  not  the  lover  but  the  beloved, 
and  thence  well  concluded  that  he  must 
be  supremely  beautiful;  for  that  which 
is  the  object  of  Love  must  indeed  be 
fair,  and  delicate,  and  perfect,  and  most 
happy ;  but  Love  inherits,  as  I  have 
declared,  a  totally  opposite  nature/' — 
"Your  words  have  persuasion  in  them, 
O  stranger/'  I  said ;  "be  it  as  you  say. 


But  this  Love,  what  advantages  does 
he  afford  to  men?" — "I  will  proceed 
to  explain  it  to  you,  Socrates,  Love,be^ 
ing  such  and  so  produced  as  I  have  de^ 
scribed,  is,  indeed,  as  you  say,  the  love 
of  things  which  are  beautiful.  But  if 
any  one  should  ask  us,  saying:  O  Soc^ 
rates  and  Diotima,  why  is  Love  the 
love  of  beautiful  things/  Or,  in  planv 
er  words,  what  does  the  lover  of  that 
which  is  beautiful,  love  in  the  object 
of  his  love,  and  seek  from  it  i " — "He 
seeks,"  I  said,  interrupting  her,  "the 
property  and  possession  of  it." —  "  But 
that,"  she  replied,  "might  still  be  met 
with  another  question,  What  has  he, 
who  possesses  that  which  is  beautiful  ? " 
—  "Indeed,  I  cannot  immediately  re^ 
ply." — "But  if,  changing  the  beauti' 
ful  for  good,  any  one  should  inquire, 
— I  ask,  O  Socrates,  what  is  that  which 

99 


he  who  loves  that  which  is  good,  loves 
in  the  object  of  his  love  I " —  "  To  be  in 
his  possession,"  I  replied. — "  And  what 
has  he,  who  has  the  possession  of  good  ? " 
— "  This  question  is  of  easier  solution : 
he  is  happy." — "  Those  who  are  hap" 
py,  then,  are  happy  through  the  pos- 
session ;  and  it  is  useless  to  inquire  what 
he  desires,  who  desires  to  be  happy;  the 
question  seems  to  have  a  complete  re- 
ply. But  do  you  think  that  this  wish 
and  this  love  are  common  to  all  men, 
and  that  all  desire  that  that  which  is 
good  should  be  for  ever  present  to 
them  ? " —  "  Certainly,  common  to  all." 
— "  Why  do  we  not  say,  then,  Socra- 
tes, that  every  one  loves  i  if,  indeed,  all 
love  perpetually  the  same  thing  I  But 
we  say  that  some  love,  and  some  do 
not." —  "  Indeed,  I  wonder  why  it  is  so." 
— "Wonder  not,"  said  Diotima,  "for 


IOO 


we  select  a  particular  species  of  love, 
and  apply  to  it  distinctively  the  appel- 
lation of  that  which  is  universal*" 
' "  Give  me  an  example  of  such  a  select 
application/' — ''Poetry;  which  is  a 
general  name  signifying  every  cause 
whereby  anything  proceeds  from  that 
which  is  not,  in  to  that  which  is ;  so  that 
the  exercise  of  every  inventive  art  is 
poetry,  and  all  such  artists  poets*  Yet 
they  are  not  called  poets,  but  distin- 
guished  by  other  names;  and  one  por^ 
tion  or  species  of  poetry,  that  which 
has  relation  to  music  and  rhythm,  is 
divided  from  all  others,  and  known  by 
the  name  belonging  to  all.  For  this  is 
alone  properly  called  poetry,  and  those 
who  exercise  the  art  of  this  species  of 
poetry,  poets.  So  with  respect  to  Love* 
Love  is  indeed  universally  all  that  ear- 
nest desire  for  the  possession  of  hap 


IP- 

IOI 


piness  and  that  which  is  good ;  the 
greatest  and  the  subtlest  love,  and 
which  inhabits  the  heart  of  every  living 
being;  but  those  who  seek  this  object 
through  the  acquirement  of  wealth,  or 
the  exercise  of  the  gymnastic  arts,  or 
philosophy,  are  not  said  to  love,  nor 
are  called  lovers ;  one  species  alone  is 
called  love,  and  those  alone  are  said  to 
be  lovers,  and  to  love,  who  seek  the  at- 
tainment of  the  universal  desire  through 
one  species  of  love,  which  is  peculiarly 
distinguished  by  the  name  belonging 
to  the  wholeut  is  asserted  by  some  that 
they4ove  who  are  seeking  the  lost  half 
of  their  divided  being.  But  I  assert  that 
Love  is  neither  the  love  of  half  nor  of 
the  whole,  unless,  my  friend,  it  meets 
with  that  which  is  good ;  since  men 
willingly  cut  off  their  own  hands  and 
feet,  if  they  think  that  they  are  the 


102 


cause  of  evil  to  them.  Nor  do  they  cher- 
ish  and  embrace  that  which  may  be- 
long  to  themselves  merely  because  it 
is  their  own,  unless,  indeed,  any  one 
should  choose  to  say  that  that  which 
is  good  is  attached  to  his  own  nature 
and  is  his  own,  whilst  that  which  is  evil 
is  foreign  and  accidental ;  but  love  noth- 
ing but  that  which  is  good.  Does  it  not 
appear  so  to  you  ?" — "Assuredly/' — 
"  Can  we,  then,  simply  affirm  that  men 
love  that  which  is  good?" — "Wrth- 
out  doubt/' — "  What,  then,  must  we 
not  add,  that,  in  addition  to  loving  that 
which  is  good,  they  love  that  it  sh'ould 
be  present  to  themselves  I" — "Indeed 
that  must  be  added/' —  "And  not  mere- 
ly that  it  should  be  present,  but  that  it 
should  ever  be  present  i " —  "  This  also 
must  be  added/' 

4 "  Love,  then,  is  collectively  the  desire 

103 


in  men  that  good  should  be  for  ever 
present  to  them/' — "Most  true/' — 
"Since  this  is  the  general  definition  of 
Love,  can  you  explain  in  what  mode 
of  attaining  its  object,  and  in  what  spe- 
cies  of  actions,  does  Love  peculiarly 
consist  ?" — "If  I  knew  what  you  ask, 
^  O  Diotima,  I  should  not  have  so  much 
wondered  at  your  wisdom,  nor  have 
sought  you  out  for  the  purpose  of 
deriving  improvement  from  your  in- 
structions/'— "I  will  tell  you,"  she  re- 
plied: "Love  is  the  desire  of  generation 
in  the  beautiful,  both  with  relation  to 
the  body  and  the  soul/' — "I  must  be  a 
diviner  to  comprehend  what  you  say, 
for,  being  such  as  I  am,  I  confess  that 
I  do  not  understand  it/' — "But  I  will 
explain  it  more  clearly.  The  bodies  and 
the  souls  of  all  human  beings  are  alike 

pregnant  with  their  future  progeny, 

104 


and  when  we  arrive  at  a  certain  age 
our  nature  impels  us  to  bring  forth  and 
propagate.  This  nature  is  unable  to 
produce  in  that  which  is  deformed,  but 
it  can  produce  in  that  which  is  beauti^ 
fuL  The  intercourse  of  the  male  and 
female  in  generation,  a  divine  work, 
through  pregnancy  and  production,  is, 
as  it  were,  something  immortal  in  mor^ 
tality.  These  things  cannot  take  place 
in  that  which  is  incongruous ;  for  that 
which  is  deformed  is  incongruous,  but 
that  which  is  beautiful  is  congruous 
with  what  is  immortal  and  divine. 
Beauty  is,  therefore,  the  fate  and  the 
JunoLucina  to  generation.  Wherefore, 
whenever  that  which  is  pregnant  with 
the  generative  principle  approaches 
that  which  is  beautiful,  it  becomes 
transported  with  delight,  and  is  poured 

forth  in  overflowing  pleasure,  and  pro" 

105 


pagates.  But  when  it  approaches  that 
which  is  deformed,  it  is  contracted  by 
sadness,  and,  being  repelled  and  check> 
ed,  it  does  not  produce,  but  retains  un^ 
willingly  that  with  which  it  is  preg^ 
nant.  Wherefore,  to  one  pregnant,  and, 
as  it  were,  already  bursting  with  the 
load  of  his  desire,  the  impulse  towards 
that  which  is  beautiful  is  intense,  on 
account  of  the  great  pain  of  retaining 
that  which  he  has  conceived.  Love,  then, 
O  Socrates,  is  not  as  you  imagine  the 
love  of  the  beautiful/'—  "  What,  then  ? " 
— "Of  generation  and  production  in 
the  beautiful/' —  "Why  then  of  gene^ 
ration !" — "Generation  is  something 
eternal  and  immortal  in  mortality.  It 
necessarily,  from  what  has  been  con^ 
fessed,  follows,  that  we  must  desire  inv 
mortality  together  with  what  is  good, 

since  Love  is  the  desire  that  good  be  for 

1 06 


ever  present  to  us.  Of  necessity  Love 
must  also  be  the  desire  of  immortality/' 
'Diotima  taught  me  all  this  doctrine 
in  the  discourse  we  had  together  con- 
cerning Love;  and  in  addition  she  in- 
quired, "  What  do  you  think,  Socrates, 
is  the  cause  of  this  love  and  desire  ?  Do 
you  not  perceive  how  all  animals,  both 
those  of  the  earth  and  of  the  air,  are  af- 
fected when  they  desire  the  propaga- 
tion of  their  species,  affected  even  to 
weakness  and  disease  by  the  impulse 
of  their  love ;  first,  longing  to  be  mixed 
with  each  other,  and  then  seeking  nour- 
ishment for  their  offspring,  so  that  the 
feeblest  are  ready  to  contend  with  the 
strongest  in  obedience  to  this  law,  and 
to  die  for  the  sake  of  their  young,  or  to 
waste  away  with  hunger,  and  do  or 
suffer  anything  so  that  they  may  not 

want  nourishment.  It  might  be  said 

107 


that  human  beings  do  these  things 
through  reason,  but  can  you  explain 
why  other  animals  are  thus  affected 
through  love  / " —  I  confessed  that  I  did 
not  know. — "Do  you  imagine  your^ 
self/'  said  she,  "to  be  skilful  in  the  sci^ 
ence  of  Love,  if  you  are  ignorant  of 
these  things  I" — "As  I  said  before,  O 
Diotima,  I  come  to  you,  well  knowing 
how  much  I  am  in  need  of  a  teacher. 
But  explain  to  me,  I  entreat  you,  the 
cause  of  these  things,  and  of  the  other 
things  relating  to  Love." — "If,"  said 
Diotima,  "you  believe  that  Love  is  of 
the  same  nature  as  we  have  mutually 
agreed  upon,  wonder  not  that  such  are 
its  effects.  For  the  mortal  nature  seeks, 
so  far  as  it  is  able,  to  become  deathless 
and  eternal.  But  it  can  only  accomplish 
this  desire  by  generation,  which  for 
ever  leaves  another  new  in  place  of  the 

108 


old.  For,  although  each  human  being 
be  severally  said  to  live,  and  be  the  same 
from  youth  to  old  age,  yet  that  which 
is  called  the  same  never  contains  with' 
in  itself  the  same  things,  but  always 
is  becoming  new  by  the  loss  and  change 
of  that  which  it  possessed  before;  both 
the  hair,  and  the  flesh,  and  the  bones, 
and  the  entire  body, 
'"And  not  only  does  this  change  take 
place  in  the  body,  but  also  with  respect 
to  the  soul  Manners,  morals, opinions, 
desires,  pleasures,  sorrows,  fears ;  none 
of  these  ever  remain  unchanged  in  the 
same  persons,  but  some  die  away,  and 
others  are  produced.  And,  what  is  yet 
more  strange  is,  that  not  only  does  some 
knowledge  spring  up,  and  another  de^ 
cay,  and  that  we  are  never  the  same 
with  respect  to  our  knowledge,  but  that 

each  several  object  of  our  thoughts  suf- 

109 


fers  the  same  revolution*  That  which 
is  called  meditation,  or  the  exercise  of 
memory,  is  the  science  of  the  escape  or 
departure  of  memory ;  for,  forgetfulness 
is  the  going  out  of  knowledge ;  and 
meditation,  calling  up  a  new  memory 
in  the  place  of  that  which  has  departed, 
preserves  knowledge ;  so  that,  though 
for  ever  displaced  and  restored,  it  seems 
to  be  the  same.  In  this  manner  every ' 
thing  mortal  is  preserved :  not  that  it 
is  constant  and  eternal,  like  that  which 
is  divine,  but  that  in  the  place  of  what 
has  grown  old  and  is  departed,  it  leaves 
another  new  like  that  which  it  was  it' 
self.  By  this  contrivance,  O  Socrates, 
does  what  is  mortal,  the  body  and  all 
other  things,  partake  of  immortality ; 
that  which  is  immortal  is  immortal  in 
another  manner.  Wonder  not,  then,  if 
everything  by  nature  cherishes  that 


no 


v 


which  was  produced  from  itself,  for 
this  earnest  Love  is  a  tendency  towards 
eternity/' 

'  Having  heard  this  discourse,  I  was  as^ 
tonished,  and  asked, "  Can  these  things 
be  true,  O  wisest  Diotima  >"  And  she, 
like  an  accomplished  sophist,  said, 
"Know  well,  O  Socrates,  that  if  you 
only  regard  that  love  of  glory  which 
inspires  men,  you  will  wonder  at  your 
own  unskilfulness  in  not  having  dis' 
covered  all  that  I  now  declare.  Observe 
with  how  vehement  a  desire  they  are 
affected  to  become  illustrious  and  to 
prolong  their  glory  into  immortal  time, 
to  obtain  which  object,f  ar  more  ardent' 
ly  than  for  the  sake  of  their  children, 
all  men  are  ready  to  engage  in  many 
dangers,  and  expend  their  fortunes,  and 
submit  to  any  labours  and  incur  any 
death.  Do  you  believe  that  Alcestis 


would  have  died  in  the  place  of  Ad' 
metus,  or  Achilles  for  the  revenge  of 
Patroclus,  or  Codrus  for  the  kingdom 
of  his  posterity,  if  they  had  not  believed 
that  the  immortal  memory  of  their 
actions,  which  we  now  cherish,  would 
have  remained  after  their  death  ?  Far 
otherwise ;  all  such  deeds  are  done  for 
the  sake  of  ever4iving  virtue,  and  this 
immortal  glory  which  they  have  ol> 
tained ;  and  inasmuch  as  any  one  is  of 
an  excellent  nature,  so  much  the  more 
is  he  impelled  to  attain  this  reward. 
For  they  love  what  is  immortal, 
' "  Those  whose  bodies  alone  are  preg' 
nant  with  this  principle  of  immortal' 
ity  are  attracted  by  women,  seeking 
through  the  production  of  children 
/  what  they  imagine  to  be  happiness  and 
immortality  and  an  enduring  remem' 
brance ;  but  they  Whose  souls  are  far 


112 


more  pregnant  than  their  bodies,  con- 
ceive  and  produce  that  which  is  more 
suitable  to  the  souL  What  is  suitable  to 
the  soul  /  Intelligence  and  every  other 
power  and  excellence  of  the  mind ;  of 
which  all  poets,  arid  all  other  artists 
who  are  creative  and  inventive,  are  the 
authors*  The  greatest  and  most  admi'  /i 

rable  wisdom  is  that  which  regulates 

" 

the  government  of  families  and  states, 
and  which  is  called  moderation  and 
justice.  Whosoever,  therefore  from  his 
youth  feels  his  soul  prggnant  with  the 
conception  of  these  excellences,  is  di- 
vine :  and  when  due  time  arrives,  de- 
sires to  bring  forth ;  and  wandering  a« 
bout,  he  seeks  the  beautiful  in  which 
he  may  propagate  what  he  has  con- 
ceived ;  for  there  is  no  generation  in 
that  which  is  deformed ;  he  embraces 
those  bodies  which  are  beautiful  rather 


than  those  which  are  deformed,  i 
dience  to  the  principle  which  is  within 
him,  which  is  ever  seeking  to  perpet' 
uate  itself.  And  if  he  meets,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  loveliness  of  form,  a  beauti' 
ful,  generous,  and  gentle  soul,  he  env 
braces  both  at  once,  and  immediately 
undertakes  to  educate  this  object  of  his 
love,  and  is  inspired  with  an  overflow^ 
ing  persuasion  to  declare  what  is  virtue, 
and  what  he  ought  to  be  who  would 
attain  to  its  possession,  and  what  are 
the  duties  which  it  exacts.  For,  by  the 
intercourse  with,  and  as  it  were,  the 
very  touch  of  that  which  is  beautiful, 
he  brings  forth  and  produces  what  he 
had  formerly  conceived ;  and  nourishes 
and  educates  that  which  is  thus  pro^ 
duced  together  with  the  object  of  his 
love,  whose  image,  whether  absent  or 

present,  is  never  divided  from  his  mind. 
114 


So  that  those  who  are  thus  united  are 
linked  by  a  nobler  community  and  a 
firmer  love,  as  being  the  common  par^ 
ents  of  a  lovelier  and  more  endearing 
progeny  than  the  parents  of  other  chil^ 
dren.  And  every  one  who  considers 
what  posterity  Homer  and  Hesiod  and 
the  other  great  poets  have  left  behind 
them,  the  sources  of  their  own  immor^ 
tal  memory  and  renown,  or  what  chil' 
dren  of  his  soul  Ly  curgus  has  appointed 
to  be  the  guardians,  not  only  of  Lace^ 
daemon,  but  of  all  Greece ;  or  what  an 
illustrious  progeny  of  laws  Solon  has 
produced,  and  how  many  admirable 
achievements,  both  among  the  Greeks 
and  Barbarians,  men  have  left  as  the 
pledges  of  that  love  which  subsisted  be^ 
tween  them  and  the  beautiful,  would 
choose  rather  to  be  the  parent  of  such 
children  than  those  in  a  human  shape. 


For  divine  honours  have  often  been 
rendered  to  them  on  account  of  such 
children,  but  on  account  of  those  in 
human  shape,  never. 
'"Your  own  meditation,  O  Socrates, 
might  perhaps  have  initiated  you  in 
all  these  things  which  I  have  already 
taught  you  on  the  subject  of  Love. 
But  those  perfect  and  sublime  ends  to 
which  these  are  only  the  means,  I  know 
not  that  you  would  have  been  compe^ 
tent  to  discover.  I  will  declare  them, 
therefore,  and  will  render  them  as  in^ 
telligible  as  possible :  do  you  mean- 

while  strain  all  your  attention  to  ti^oe 

^  *xjii 

the  obscure  depth  of  the  subject /He 
who  aspires  to  love  rightly,  ought  from 
his  earliest  youth  to  seek  an  intercourse 
with  beautiful  forms,  and  first  to  make 
a  single  form  the  object  of  his  love,  and 
therein  to  generate  intellectual  excel' 

116 


lences.  He  ought,  then,  to  consider  that 
beauty  in  whatever  form  it  resides  is 
the  brother  of  that  beauty  which  sub' 
sists  in  another  form ;  and  if  he  ought 
to  pursue  that  which  is  beautiful  in 
form,  it  would  be  absurd  to  imagine 
that  beauty  is  not  one  and  the  same 
thing  in  all  forms,  and  would  therefore 
remit  much  of  his  ardent  preference  to^ 
wards  one,  through  his  perception  of. 
the  multitude  of  claims  upon  his  love. 
In  addition,  he  would  consider  tEe 
beauty  which  is  in  souls  more  excel' 
lent  than  that  which  is  in  form.  So  that 
one  endowed  with  an  admirable  soul, 
even  though  the  flower  of  the  form 
were  withered,  would  suffice  him  as 
the  object  of  his  love  and  care,  and  the 
companion  with  whom  he  might  seek 
and  produce  such  conclusions  as  tend 
to  the  improvement  of  youth ;  so  that 


it  might  be  led  to  observe  the  beauty 
and  the  conformity  which  there  is  in 
the  observation  of  its  duties  and  the 
laws,  and  to  esteem  little  the  mere  beau- 
ty of  the  outward  form.  He  would  then 
conduct  his  pupil  to  science,  so  that 
he  might  look  upon  the  loveliness  of 
wisdom ;  and  that  contemplating  thus 
the  universal  beauty,  no  longer  would 
he  unworthily  and  meanly  enslave 
himself  to  the  attractions  of  one  form 
in  love,  nor  one  subject  of  discipline  or 
science,  but  would  turn  towards  the 
wide  ocean  of  intellectual  beauty,  and 
from  the  sight  of  the  lovely  and  ma^ 
jestic  forms  which  it  contains,  would 
abundantly  bring  forth  his  conceptions 
in  philosophy ;  until,  strengthened  and 
confirmed,  he  should  at  length  stead' 
ily  contemplate  one  science,  which  is 

the  science  of  this  universal  beauty. 
118 


' "  Attempt,  I  entreat  you,  to  mark  what 
I  say  with  as  keen  an  observation  as 
you  can.  He  who  has  been  disciplined 
to  this  point  in  Love,  by  contemplat- 
ing beautiful  objects  gradually,  and  in 
their  order,  now  arriving  at  the  end  of 
all  that  concerns  Love,  on  a  sudden  be- 
holds a  beauty  wonderful  in  its  nature. 
This  is  it,  O  Socrates,  for  the  sake  of 
which  all  the  former  labours  were  en- 
dured. It  is  eternal,  unproduced,  inde- 
structible ;  neither  subject  to  increase 
nor  decay:  not, like  other  things, partly 
beautiful  and  partly  deformed ;  not  at 
one  time  beautiful  and  at  another  time 
not ;  not  beautiful  in  relation  to  one 
thing  and  deformed  in  relation  to  an- 
other;  not  here  beautiful  and  there  de- 
formed ;  not  beautiful  in  the  estimation 
of  one  person  and  deformed  in  that  of 

another ;  nor  can  this  supreme  beauty 

119 


be  figured  to  the  imagination  like  a 
beautiful  face,  or  beautiful  hands,  or 
any  portion  of  the  body,  nor  like  any 
discourse,  nor  any  science.  Nor  does 
it  subsist  in  any  other  that  lives  or  is, 
either  in  earth,  or  in  heaven,  or  in  any 
other  place;  but  it  is  eternally  uniform 
and  consistent,  and  monoeidic  with 
itself  All  other  things  are  beautiful 
through  a  participation  of  it,  with  this 
condition,  that  although  they  are  sub' 
ject  to  production  and  decay,  it  never 
becomes  more  or  less,  or  endures  any 
change.  When  anyone,  ascending  from 
a  correct  system  of  Love,  begins  to  con^ 
template  this  supreme  beauty,  he  al' 
ready  touches  the  consummation  of 
his  labour.  For  such  as  discipline  them^ 
selves  upon  this  system,  or  are  con^ 
ducted  by  another  beginning  to  ascend 
through  these  transitory  objects  which 


I2O 


are  beautiful,  towards  that  which  is 
beauty  itself,  proceeding  as  on  steps 
from  the  love  of  one  form  to  that  of 
two,  and  from  that  of  two  to  that  of 
all  forms  which  are  beautiful ;  and  from 
beautiful  forms  to  beautiful  habits  and 
institutions,  and  from  institutions  to 
beautiful  doctrines;  until,  from  the 
meditation  of  many  doctrines,  they  ar- 
rive  at  that  which  is  nothing  else  than 
the  doctrine  of  the  supreme  beauty  it' 
self,  in  the  knowledge  and  contempla^ 
tion  of  which  at  length  they  repose. 
'"Such  a  life  as  this,  my  dear  Socra- 
tes,^ exclaimed  the  stranger  Prophetess, 
"spent  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
beautiful,  is  the  life  for  men  to  live ; 
which  if  you  chance  ever  to  experience, 
you  will  esteem  far  beyond  gold  and 
rich  garments,  and  even  those  lovely 
persons  whom  you  and  many  others 


121 


now  gaze  on  with  astonishment,  and 
are  prepared  neither  to  eat  nor  drink 
so  that  you  may  behold  and  live  for 
ever  with  these  objects  of  your  love ! 
What  then  shall  we  imagine  to  be  the 
aspect  of  the  supreme  beauty  itself, 
simple,  pure,  uncontaminated  with  the 
intermixture  of  human  flesh  and  coL 
ours,  and  all  other  idle  and  unreal 
shapes  attendant  on  mortality ;  the  di' 
vine,  the  original,  the  supreme,  the  ITKV 
noeidic  beautiful  itself?  \Vhat  must  be 
the  life  of  him  who  dwells  with  and 
gazes  on  that  which  it  becomes  us  all 
to  seek  I  Think  you  not  that  to  him 
alone  is  accorded  the  prerogative  of 
bringing  forth,  not  images  and  shad' 
ows  of  virtue,  for  he  is  in  contact  not 
with  a  shadow  but  with  reality ;  with 
virtue  itself,  in  the  production  and 
nourishment  of  which  he  becomes  dear 

122 


to  the  Gods,  and  if  such  a  privilege  is 
conceded  to  any  human  being,  himself 
immortal/LJ 

'Such,  O  Phaedrus,  and  my  other 
friends,  was  what  Diotima  said.  And 
being  persuaded  by  her  words,  I  have 
since  occupied  myself  in  attempting 
to  persuade  others,  that  it  is  not  easy 
to  find  a  better  assistant  than  Love  in 
seeking  to  communicate  immortality 
to  our  human  natures*  Wherefore  I  ex^ 
hort  every  one  to  honour  Love ;  I  hold 
him  in  honour,  and  chiefly  exercise  my- 
self in  amatory  matters,  and  exhort 
others  to  do  so ;  and  now  and  ever  do 
I  praise  the  power  and  excellence  of 
Love,  in  the  best  manner  that  I  can. 
Let  this  discourse,  if  it  pleases  you, 
Phaedrus,  be  considered  as  an  encomi^ 
um  of  Love ;  or  call  it  by  what  other 

•11  f  X 

name  you  will. 

123 


The  whole  assembly  praised  his  dis- 
course,  and  Aristophanes  was  on  the 
point  of  making  some  remarks  on  the 
allusion  made  by  Socrates  to  him  in  a 
part  of  his  discourse,  when  suddenly 
they  heard  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door 
of  the  vestibule,  and  a  clamour  as  of 
revellers,  attended  by  a  flute-player. — 
'  Go,  boys/  said  Agathon, '  and  see  who 
is  there :  if  they  are  any  of  our  friends, 
call  them  in ;  if  not,  say  that  we  have 
already  done  drinking/ — A  minute 
afterwards  they  heard  the  voice  of  Al' 
cibiades  in  the  vestibule  excessively 
drunk  and  roaring  out: — '  \Vhere  is 
Agathon?  Lead  me  to  Agathon  I1 — 
The  flute^player  and  some  of  his  com*- 
panions  then  led  him  in,  and  placed 
him  against  the  door-post,  crowned 
with  a  thick  crown  of  ivy  and  violets, 

and  having  a  quantity  of  fillets  on  his 
124 


head. —  'My  friends/  he  cried  out, 
'  hail !  I  am  excessively  drunk  already, 
but  1 11  drink  with  you,  if  you  will.  If 
not,  we  will  go  away  after  having  crown*- 
ed  Agathon,  for  which  purpose  I  came. 
I  assure  you  that  I  could  not  come  yes^ 
terday,  but  I  am  now  here  with  these 
fillets  round  my  temples,  that  from  my 
own  head  I  may  crown  his  who,  with 
your  leave,  is  the  most  beautiful  and 
wisest  of  men.  Are  you  laughing  at  me 
because  I  am  drunk  ?  Ay,  I  know  what 
I  say  is  true,  whether  you  laugh  or  not. 
But  tell  me  at  once,  whether  I  shall 
come  in,  or  no.  Will  you  drink  with 
me?' 

Agathon  and  the  whole  party  desired 
him  to  come  in,  and  recline  among 
them ;  so  he  came  in,  led  by  his  conv 
panions.  He  then  unbound  his  fillets 

that  he  might  crown  Agathon,  and 

125 


though  Socrates  was  just  before  his 
eyes,  he  did  not  see  him,  but  sat  down 
by  Agathon,  between  Socrates  and  him, 
for  Socrates  moved  out  of  the  way  to 
make  room  for  him,\Vhen  he  sat  down, 
he  embraced  Agathon  and  crowned 
him ;  and  Agathon  desired  the  slaves 
to  untie  his  sandals,  that  he  might 
make  a  third,  and  recline  on  the  same 
couch, '  By  all  means/  said  Alcibiades, 
'but  what  third  companion  have  we 
here  i '  And  at  the  same  time  turning 
round  and  seeing  Socrates,  he  leaped 
up  and  cried  out : — '  O  Hercules !  what 
have  we  here  ?  You,  Socrates,  lying  in 
ambush  for  me  wherever  I  go !  and 
meeting  me  just  as  you  always  do, 
when  I  least  expected  to  see  you !  And 
now,  what  are  you  come  here  for  ?  Why 
.  have  you  chosen  to  recline  exactly  in 

this  place,  and  not  near  Aristophanes, 
126 


or  any  one  else  who  is  or  wishes  to  be 
ridiculous,  but  have  contrived  to  take 
your  place  beside  the  most  delightful 
person  of  the  whole  party?' — 'Aga- 
thon/  said  Socrates, '  see  if  you  cannot  j£A 
defend  me.  I  declare  my  friendship  for 
this  man  is  a  bad  business ;  from  the 
moment  that  I  first  began  to  know  him 
I  have  never  been  permitted  to  con- 
verse  with,  or  so  much  as  to  look  upon 
any  one  else.  If  I  do,  he  is  so  jealous  and 
suspicious  that  he  does  the  most  ex- 
travagant  things,  and  hardly  refrains 
from  beating  me.  I  entreat  you  to  pre- 
vent  him  from  doing  anything  of  that 
kind  at  present.  Procure  a  reconcilia- 
tion :  or,  if  he  perseveres  in  attempting 
any  violence,  I  entreat  you  to  defend 
me/ — 'Indeed/  said  Alcibiades/I  will 
not  be  reconciled  to  you ;  I  shall  find 

another  opportunity  to  punish  you  for 

127 


this.  But  now/  said  he,  addressing  Ag- 
athon,  'lend  me  some  of  those  fillets, 
that  I  may  crown  the  wonderful  head 
of  this  fellow,  lest  I  incur  the  blame, 
that  having  crowned  you,  I  neglected 
to  crown  him  who  conquers  all  men 
with  his  discourses,  not  yesterday  alone, 
as  you  did,  but  ever/ 
Saying  this  he  took  the  fillets,  and  hav^ 
ing  bound  the  head  of  Socrates,  and 
again  having  reclined,  said: — 'Come, 
my  friends,you  seem  to  be  sober  enough. 
You  must  not  flinch,  but  drink,  for 
that  was  your  agreement  with  me  be- 
fore  I  came  in.  I  choose  as  president, 
until  you  have  drunk  enough — my- 
self.^Come,  Agathon,  if  you  have  got 
a  great  goblet,  fetch  it  out.  But  no  mat- 
ter, that  wine  cooler  will  do ;  bring  it, 
boy ! '  And  observing  that  it  held  more 

than  eight  cups,  he  first  drank  it  off, 
128 


and  then  ordered  it  to  be  filled  for  Soo 
rates,  and  said : — '  Observe,  my  friends, 
I  cannot  invent  any  scheme  against 
Socrates,  for  he  will  drink  as  much  as 
any  one  desires  him,  and  not  be  in  the 
least  drunk/  Socrates,  after  the  boy  had 
filled  up,  drank  it  off;  and  Eryxima^ 
chus  said: — *  Shall  we  then  have  no 
conversation  or  singing  over  our  cups, 
but  drink  down  stupidly,  just  as  if  we 
were  thirsty?'  And  Alcibiades  said: — 
'  Ah,  Eryximachus,  I  did  not  see  you 
before;  hail,  you  excellent  son  of  a  wise 
and  excellent  father!' — 'Hail  to  you 
also/  replied  Eryximachus,  'but  what 
shall  we  do  I* — 'Whatever  you  conv 
mand,  for  we  ought  to  submit  to  your 
directions ;  a  physician  is  worth  a  hmv 
dred  common  men.  Command  us  as 
you  please/ — '  Listen  then/  said  Eryxi' 

machus ;  'before  you  came  in,  each  of 

129 


us  had  agreed  to  deliver  as  eloquent  a 
discourse  as  he  could  in  praise  of  Love, 
beginning  at  the  right  hand ;  all  the  rest 
of  us  have  fulfilled  our  engagement ; 
you  have  not  spoken,  and  yet  have 
drunk  with  us ;  you  ought  to  bear  your 
part  in  the  discussion ;  and  having  done 
so,  command  what  you  please  to  Soc- 
rates,  who  shall  have  the  privilege  of 
doing  so  to  his  right-hand  neighbour, 
and  so  on  to  the  others/ — '  Indeed,  there 
appears  some  justice  in  your  proposal, 
Eryximachus,  though  it  is  rather  un- 
fair to  induce  a  drunken  man  to  set  his 
discourse  in  competition  with  that  of 
those  who  are  sober.  And,  besides,  did 
Socrates  really  persuade  you  that  what 
he  just  said  about  me  was  true,  or  do 
you  not  know  that  matters  are  in  fact 
exactly  the  reverse  of  his  representa- 
tion ?  For  I  seriously  believe  that,  should 
130 


I  praise  in  his  presence,  be  he  god  or 
man,  any  other  beside  himself,  he  would 
not  keep  his  hands  off  me.  But  I  assure 
you,  Socrates,  I  will  praise  no  one  be^ 
side  yourself,  in  your  presence/ 
'  Do  so,  then/ said  Eryximachus ;  'praise 
Socrates  if  you  please/ — 'What! 'said 
Alcibiades,  'shall  I  attack  him,  and  pun> 
ish  him  before  you  all  ? ' — '  What  have 
you  got  into  your  head  now/  said  Soc^ 
rates ;  are  you  going  to  expose  me  to 
ridicule,  and  to  misrepresent  me  ?  Or 
what  are  you  going  to  do?' — 'I  will 
only  speak  the  truth ;  will  you  permit 
me  on  this  condition  tf — 'I  not  only  per' 
mit,  but  exhort  you  to  say  all  the  truth 
you  know/  replied  Socrates* — '  I  obey 
you  willingly/  said  Alcibiades ; '  and 
if  I  advance  anything  untrue,  do  you, 
if  you  please,  interrupt  me,  and  convict 
me  of  misrepresentation,  for  I  would 


never  willingly  speak  falsely.  And  bear 
with  me  if  I  do  not  relate  things  in  their 
order,  but  just  as  I  remember  them,  for 
it  is  not  easy  for  a  man  in  my  present 
condition  to  enumerate  systematical' 
ly  all  your  singularities. 
'  I  will  begin  the  praise  of  Socrates  by 
comparing  him  to  a  certain  statue.  Per^ 
haps  he  will  think  that  this  statue  is 
introduced  for  the  sake  of  ridicule,  but 
I  assure  you  that  it  is  necessary  for  the 
illustration  of  truth.  I  assert,  then,  that 
Socrates  is  exactly  like  those  Silenus^ 
es  that  sit  in  the  sculptors'  shops,  and 
which  are  carved  holding  flutes  or  pipes, 
but  which,  when  divided  in  two,  are 
found  to  contain  withinside  the  im^ 
ages  of  the  gods.  I  assert  that  Socrates 
is  like  the  satyr  Marsyas.  That  your 
form  and  appearance  are  like  these  sat-' 

yrs,  I  think  that  even  you  will  not  ven> 
132 


ture  to  deny ;  and  how  like  you  are  to 
them  in  all  other  things,  now  hear.  Are 
you  not  scornful  and  petulant  ?  If  you 
deny  this,  I  will  bring  witnesses.  Are 
you  not  a  piper,  and  far  more  wonder^ 
ful  a  one  than  he  ?  For  Marsyas,  and 
whoever  now  pipes  the  music  that  he 
taught,  for  that  music  which  is  of 
heaven,  and  described  as  being  taught 
by  Marsyas,  enchants  men  through 
the  power  of  the  mouth.  For  if  any 
musician,  be  he  skilful  or  not,  awak^ 
ens  this  music,  it  alone  enables  him 
to  retain  the  minds  of  men,  and  from 
the  divinity  of  its  nature  makes  evi' 
dent  those  who  are  in  want  of  the  Gods 
and  initiation.  You  differ  only  from 
Marsyas  in  this  circumstance,  that  you 
effect  without  instruments,  by  mere 
words,  all  that  he  can  do.  For  when 
we  hear  Pericles,  or  any  other  acconv 


plished  orator,  deliver  a  discourse,  no 
one,  as  it  were,  cares  anything  about  it. 
But  when  any  one  hears  you,  or  even 
your  words  related  by  another,  though 
ever  so  rude  and  unskilful  a  speaker, 
be  that  person  a  woman,  man,  or  child, 
we  are  struck  and  retained,  as  it  were, 
by  the  discourse  clinging  to  our  mind. 
'  If  I  was  not  afraid  that  I  am  a  great 
deal  too  drunk,  I  would  confirm  to  you 
by  an  oath  the  strange  effects  which 
I  assure  you  I  have  suffered  from  his 
words,  and  suffer  still;  for  when  I  hear 
him  speak,  my  heart  leaps  up  far  more 
than  the  hearts  of  those  who  celebrate 
the  Corybantic  mysteries :  my  tears 
are  poured  out  as  he  talks,  a  thing  I 
have  seen  happen  to  many  others  be^ 
side  myself  I  have  heard  Pericles  and 
other  excellent  orators,  and  have  been 
pleased  with  their  discourses,  but  I  suf- 
'34 


fered  nothing  of  this  kind;  nor  was  my 
soul  ever  on  those  occasions  disturbed 
and  filled  with  self-reproach,  as  if  it 
were  slavishly  laid  prostrate.  But  this 
Marsyas  here  has  often  affected  me  in 
the  way  I  describe,  until  the  life  which 
I  lead  seemed  hardly  worth  living.  Do 
not  deny  it,  Socrates ;  for  I  well  know 
that  if  even  now  I  chose  to  listen  to  you, 
I  could  not  resist,  but  should  again  suf- 
fer  the  same  effects.  For,  my  friends, 
he  forces  me  to  confess  that  while  I  my- 
self am  still  in  want  of  many  things, 
I  neglect  my  own  necessities,  and  at- 
tend to  those  of  the  Athenians.  I  stop 
my  ears,  therefore,  as  from  the  Syrens, 
and  flee  away  as  fast  as  possible,  that 
I  may  not  sit  down  beside  him  and 
grow  old  in  listening  to  his  talk.  For 
this  man  has  reduced  me  to  feel  the 
sentiment  of  shame,  which  I  imagine 


no  one  would  readily  believe  was  in  me ; 
he  aloifie  inspires  me  with  remorse  and 
awe^JFor  I  feel  in  his  presence  my  in^ 
capacity  of  refuting  what  he  says,  or 
of  refusing  to  do  that  which  he  directs ; 
but  when  I  depart  from  him,  the  gh> 
ry  which  the  multitude  confers  over^ 
whelms  me.  I  escape,  therefore,  and 
hide  myself  from  him,  and  when  I  see 
him  I  am  overwhelmed  with  humilia^ 
tion,  because  I  have  neglected  to  do 
what  I  have  confessed  to  him  ought  to 
be  done ;  and  often  and  often  have  I 
wished  that  he  were  no  longer  to  be 
seen  among  men*  But  if  that  were  to 
happen,  I  well  know  that  I  should  suf- 
fer far  greater  pain ;  so  that  where  I  can 
turn,  or  what  I  can  do  with  this  man, 
I  know  not.  All  this  have  I  and  many 
others  suffered  from  the  pipings  of  this 

satyr. 
136 


'And  observe  how  like  he  is  to  what  I 
said,  and  what  a  wonderful  power  he 
possesses.  Know  that  there  is  not  one 
of  you  who  is  aware  of  the  real  nature 
of  Socrates ;  but  since  I  have  begun,  I 
will  make  him  plain  to  you.  You  ob- 
serve  how  passionately  Socrates  affects 
the  intimacy  of  those  who  are  beauti- 
ful,  and  how  ignorant  he  professes  him- 
self to  be ;  appearances  in  themselves 
excessively  Silenic.  This,  my  friends, 
is  the  external  form  with  which,  like 
one  of  the  sculptured  Sileni,  he  has 
clothed  himself;  for  if  you  open  him, 
you  will  find  within  admirable  tem- 
perance and  wisdom.  For  he  cares  not 
for  mere  beauty,  but  despises  more  than 
any  one  can  imagine  all  external  pps- 
sessions,whetheritbebeauty,orwealth, 
or  glory,  or  any  other  thing  for  which 
the  multitude  felicitates  the  possessor. 


He  esteems  these  things  and  us  who 
honour  them,  as  nothing,  and  lives  a- 
mong  men,  making  all  the  objects  of 
their  admiration  the  playthings  of  his 
irony.  But  I  know  not  if  any  one  of 
you  have  ever  seen  the  divine  images 
which  are  within,  when  he  has  been 
opened  and  is  serious,  I  have  seen  them, 
and  they  are  so  supremely  beautiful, 
so  golden,  so  divine,  and  wonderful, 
that  everything  which  Socrates  com' 
mands  surely  ought  to  be  obeyed,  even 
like  the  voice  of  a  God. 
'At  one  time  we  were  fellow-soldiers, 
and  had  our  mess  together  in  the  camp 
before  Potidsea.  Socrates  there  over- 
came  not  only  me,  but  every  one  be- 
side, in  endurance  of  toils :  when,  as 
often  happens  in  a  campaign,  we  were 
reduced  to  few  provisions,  there  were 
none  who  could  sustain  hunger  like 
138 


Socrates ;  and  when  we  had  plenty,  he 
alone  seemed  to  enjoy  our  military 
fare.  He  never  drank  much  willingly, 
but  when  he  was  compelled,  he  con-' 
quered  all  even  in  that  to  which  he  was 
least  accustomed;  and  what  is  most  as^ 
tonishing,  no  person  ever  saw  Socra^ 
tes  drunk  either  then  or  at  any  other 
time.  In  the  depth  of  winter  (and  the 
winters  there  are  excessively  rigid)  he 
sustained  calmly  incredible  hardships : 
and  amongst  other  things,  whilst  the 
frost  was  intolerably  severe,  and  no  one 
went  out  of  their  tents,  or  if  they  went 
out,  wrapt  themselves  up  carefully,  and 
put  fleeces  under  their  feet,  and  bound 
their  legs  with  hairy  skins,  Socrates 
went  out  only  with  the  same  cloak  on 
that  he  usually  wore,  and  walked  bare^ 
foot  upon  the  ice ;  more  easily,  indeed, 
than  those  who  had  sandalled  them' 

139 


selves  so  delicately :  so  that  the  soldiers 
thought  that  he  did  it  to  mock  their 
want  of  fortitude.  It  would  indeed  be 
worth  while  to  commemorate  all  that 
this  brave  man  did  and  endured  in  that 
expedition.  In  one  instance  he  was  seen 
early  in  the  morning  standing  in  one 
place  wrapt  in  meditation ;  and  as  he 
seemed  not  to  be  able  to  unravel  the 
subject  of  his  thoughts,  he  still  con- 
tinued  to  stand  as  inquiring  and  dis- 
cussing  within  himself,  and  when  noon 
came,  the  soldiers  observed  him,  and 
said  to  one  another  —  "  Socrates  has 
been  standing  there  thinking,  ever  since 
the  morning/'  At  last  some  lonians 
came  to  the  spot,  and  having  supped, 
as  it  was  summer,  bringing  their  blank- 
ets, they  lay  down  to  sleep  in  the  cool ; 
they  observed  that  Socrates  continued 

to  stand  there  the  whole  night  until 

140 


morning,  and  that,  when  the  sun  rose, 
he  saluted  it  with  a  prayer  and  de^ 
parted. 

'  I  ought  not  to  omit  what  Socrates  is 
in  battle.  For  in  that  battle  after  which 
the  generals  decreed  to  me  the  prize 
of  courage,  Socrates  alone  of  all  men 
was  the  saviour  of  my  life,  standing  by 
me  when  I  had  fallen  and  was  wound' 
ed,  and  preserving  both  myself  and  my 
arms  from  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  On 
that  occasion  I  entreated  the  generals 
to  decree  the  prize,  as  it  w"as  most  due, 
to  him.  And  this,  O  Socrates,  you  can^ 
not  deny,  that  while  the  generals,  wish' 
ing  to  conciliate  a  person  of  my  rank, 
desired  to  give  me  the  prize,  you  were 
far  more  earnestly  desirous  than  the 
generals  that  this  glory  should  be  at' 
tributed  not  to  yourself,  but  me. 

'  But  to  see  Socrates  when  our  army  was 

141 


defeated  and  scattered  in  flight  at 
lium,  was  a  spectacle  worthy  to  behold. 
On  that  occasion  I  was  among  the  cav- 
alry, and  he  on  foot,  heavily  armed. 
After  the  total  rout  of  our  troops,  he 
and  Laches  retreated  together;  I  came 
up  by  chance,  and  seeing  them,  bade 
them  be  of  good  cheer,  for  that  I  would 
not  leave  them.  As  I  was  on  horseback, 
and  therefore  less  occupied  by  a  regard 
of  my  own  situation,  I  could  better 
observe  than  at  Potidsea  the  beautiful 
spectacle  exhibited  by  Socrates  on  this 
emergency.  How  superior  was  he  to 
Laches  in  presence  of  mind  and  cour^ 
age !  Your  representation  of  him  on  the 
stage,  O  Aristophanes,  was  not  wholly 
unlike  his  real  self  on  this  occasion,  for 
he  walked  and  darted  his  regards  around 
with  a  majestic  composure,  looking 

tranquilly  both  on  his  friends  and 
142 


mies ;  so  that  it  was  evident  to  every 
one,  even  from  afar,  that  whoever 
should  venture  to  attack  him  would 
encounter  a  desperate  resistance.  He 
and  his  companions  thus  departed  in 
safety ;  for  those  who  are  scattered  in 
flight  are  pursued  and  killed,  whilst 
men  hesitate  to  touch  those  who  ex^ 
hibit  such  a  countenance  as  that  of 
Socrates  even  in  defeat. 
'Many  other  and  most  wonderful 
qualities  might  well  be  praised  in  Soc^ 
rates ;  but  such  as  these  might  singly 
be  attributed  to  others.  But  that  which 
is  unparalleled  in  Socrates  is,  that  he 
is  unlike  and  above  comparison  with 
all  other  men,  whether  those  who  have 
lived  in  ancient  times,  or  those  who 
exist  now.  For  it  may  be  conjectured, 
that  Brasidas  and  many  others  are  such 
as  was  Achilles.  Pericles  deserves  conv 

H3 


parison  with  Nestor  and  An  tenor ;  and 
other  excellent  persons  of  various  times 
may,  with  probability,  be  drawn  into 
comparison  with  each  other.  But  to 
such  a  singular  man  as  this,  both  hinv 
self  and  his  discourses  are  so  uncom^ 
mon,  no  one,  should  he  seek,  would 
find  a  parallel  among  the  present  or 
the  past  generations  of  mankind;  un^ 
less  they  should  say  that  he  resembled 
those  with  whom  I  lately  compared 
him,  for,  assuredly,  he  and  his  discourses 
are  like  nothing  but  the  Sileni  and  the 
Satyrs*  At  first  I  forgot  to  make  you 
observe  how  like  his  discourses  are  to 
those  Satyrs  when  they  are  opened,  for, 
if  any  one  will  listen  to  the  talk  of  Soc^ 
rates,  it  will  appear  to  him  at  first 
extremely  ridiculous ;  the  phrases  and 
expressions  which  he  employs,  fold  a^ 

round  his  exterior  the  skin,  as  it  were, 

144 


of  a  rude  and  wanton  Satyr.  He  is  al- 
ways  talking  about  great  market-asses, 
and  brass-founders,  and  leather-cut- 
ters,  and  skin-dressers ;  and  this  is  his 
perpetual  custom,  so  that  any  dull  and 
unobservant  person  might  easily  laugh 
at  his  discourse.  But  if  any  one  should 
see  it  opened,  as  it  were,  and  get  with- 
in the  sense  of  his  words,  he  would  then 
find  that  they  alone  of  all  that  enters 
into  the  mind  of  man  to  utter,  had  a 
profound  and  persuasive  meaning,  and 
that  they  were  most  divine ;  and  that 
they  presented  to  the  mind  innumer- 
able images  of  every  excellence,  and 
that  they  tended  towards  objects  of  the 
highest  moment,  or  rather  towards  all 
that  he  who  seeks  the  possession  of 
what  is  supremely  beautiful  and  good 
need  regard  as  essential  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  ambition. 

145 


*  These  are  the  things,  my  friends,  for 
which  I  praise  Socrates/ 
Alcibiades  having  said  this,  the  whole 
party  burst  into  a  laugh  at  his  frank> 
ness,  and  Socrates  said,  *  You  seem  to 
be  sober  enough,  Alcibiades,  else  you 
would  not  have  made  such  a  circuit  of 
words,  only  to  hide  the  main  design 
for  which  you  made  this  long  speech, 
and  which,  as  it  were  carelessly,  you 
just  throw  in  at  the  last ;  now,  as  if  you 
had  not  said  all  this  for  the  mere  pur^ 
pose  of  dividing  me  and  Agathon  ?  You 
think  that  I  ought  to  be  your  friend, 
and  to  care  for  no  one  else.  I  have  found 
you  out ;  it  is  evident  enough  for  what 
design  you  invented  all  this  Satyrical 
and  Silenic  drama.  But,  my  dear  Ag' 
athon,  do  not  let  his  device  succeed.  I 
entreat  you  to  permit  no  one  to  throw 

discord  between  us/ —  '  No  doubt/  said 
146 


Agathon,  'he  sate  down  between  us 
only  that  he  might  divide  us ;  but  this 
shall  not  assist  his  scheme,  for  I  will 
come  and  sit  near  you/ — 'Do  so/  said 
Socrates,  'come,  there  is  room  for  you 
by  me. ' — '  Oh  Jupiter ! '  exclaimed  Alci' 
biades, '  what  I  endure  from  that  man ! 
He  thinks  to  subdue  every  way ;  but, 
at  least,  I  pray  you,  let  Agathon  re^ 
main  between  us/ — 'Impossible/  said 
Socrates,  'you  have  just  praised  me ;  I 
ought  to  praise  him  sitting  at  my  right 
hand*  If  Agathon  is  placed  beside  you, 
will  he  not  praise  me  before  I  praise 
him }  Now,  my  dear  friend,  allow  the 
young  man  to  receive  what  praise  I 
can  give  him.  I  have  a  great  desire  to 
pronounce  his  encomium/ — 'Quick, 
quick,  Alcibiades/  said  Agathon, '  I  can^ 
not  stay  here,  I  must  change  my  place, 
or  Socrates  will  not  praise  me/ — 


athon  then  arose  to  take  his  place  near 
Socrates. 

He  had  no  sooner  reclined  than  there 
came  in  a  number  of  revellers  —  for 
some  one  who  had  gone  out  had  left 
the  door  open — and  took  their  places 
on  the  vacant  couches,  and  everything 
became  full  of  confusion ;  and  no  order 
being  observed,  every  one  was  obliged 
to  drink  a  great  quantity  of  wine.  Eryx- 
imachus,  and  Phasdrus,  and  some  oth' 
ers,  said  Aristodemus,  went  home  to 
bed ;  that,  for  his  part,  he  went  to  sleep 
on  his  couch,  and  slept  long  and  sound' 
ly — the  nights  were  then  long — until 
the  cock  crew  in  the  morning.  When 
he  awoke  he  found  that  some  were  still 
fast  asleep,  and  others  had  gone  home, 
and  that  Aristophanes,  Agathon,  and 
Socrates  had  alone  stood  it  out,  and 

were  still  drinking  out  of  a  great  gob' 
148 


let  which  they  passed  round  and  round. 
Socrates  was  disputing  between  them. 
The  beginning  of  their  discussion  Ar- 
istodemus  said  that  he  did  not  recoL 
lect,  because  he  was  asleep ;  but  it  was 
terminated  by  Socrates  forcing  them 
to  confess,  that  the  same  person  is  able 
to  compose  both  tragedy  and  comedy, 
and  that  the  foundations  of  the  tragic 
and  comic  arts  were  essentially  the 
same.  They,  rather  convicted  than  con- 
vinced, went  to  sleep.  Aristophanes 
first  awoke,  and  then,  it  being  broad 
daylight,  Agathon.  Socrates,  having 
put  them  to  sleep,  went  away,  Aristo- 
demus  following  him,  and  coming  to 
the  Lyceum  he  washed  himself,  as  he 
would  have  done  anywhere  else,  and 
after  having  spent  the  day  there  in  his 
accustomed  manner,  went  home  in  the 

evening. 

149 


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